


You and I Were Fireworks

by Agent25



Series: The Fourth of July [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Action/Adventure, BAMF Sharon Carter (Marvel), Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Developing Relationship, F/M, Hydra (Marvel), Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Pre-Relationship, SHIELD, slowest of slow burns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-03 08:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 180,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13337085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agent25/pseuds/Agent25
Summary: "They call him the Winter Soldier. He’s credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years.”A deceptive mission, an assassination, a ghost back from the dead and a devastating secret brought to life. In an instance, Sharon Carter's life is tail-spinning out of control as she goes on the run alongside Steve Rogers to seek out the truth of the mysterious Project Insight. Sharon and Steve will be pushed to the brink as they are forced to work together, overcoming their differences as well as the one thing that has always divided them: Sharon's true identity.





	1. We're Just Fumbling Through the Grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You better have a good reason for suggesting something like this.”
> 
> Fury’s mouth upturned into his version of a smile. To others it appeared more like a scowl but Sharon knew better.
> 
> “I do, in fact.”
> 
> The blonde snorted derisively, “Oh, yeah? And what’s that?”
> 
> “Two words: Project Insight.”

**_March 31 st, 2014_ **

**_Washington, D.C._ **

****

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

“You have got to be kidding me,” Sharon Carter, more often known as Agent 13, groaned aloud as her honey blonde head of hair emerged from beneath her nest of blankets and quilts. Even without glancing at a clock she could tell it was ridiculously early in the morning and the world better be ending for her SHIELD phone to be screeching at her. Rolling onto her stomach she grabbed blindly for her phone, nearly knocking it off the nightstand before successfully extracting it. Flopping onto her back she braced herself for the blue light as she turned it on and nearly wept when she took in the time.

_5:03am_

Someone had it out for her, she just knew it.

With a few swipes of her thumb, she pulled up the text message and any resentment or lethargy she was feeling faded in an instant. Fury had texted her.

**From Fury:**

_Presence required immediately. This is a Level ROUNDHOUSE._

Throwing off her blankets, she bounded up from the bed and moved quickly through her room, her fuzzy-socked feet slapping lightly against the wooden floor. Within a matter of minutes, she had slithered into her favorite dark jeans, a navy cami and had thrown on a peplum leather jacket over it, tying the sash as she swept into the bathroom, zipping up her boots along the way.

Combing down her rampant bed hair, her blonde hair fell down in gentle waves as she brushed her teeth and washed her face. She waltzed out of her room and down the hall towards her gallery kitchen, flipping on lights and quickly getting a pot of coffee going.

There was no way she was dealing with a Level ROUNDHOUSE without any coffee in her system. Less than ten minutes later her coffee and cream were in a travel mug and she was heading to the parking garage.

Her stingray gleamed in its parking spot, looking like an absolute ten in comparison to the two economy cars beside it. She wriggled into her car seat and listened with satisfaction as her baby purred when ignited. Taking a massive swig of coffee and peering over her shoulder, she pulled out of the spot and sped off.

With it being so early in the morning (the sun had yet to make an appearance) and with Sharon taking liberties with the speed limit, what was normally a 15-minute drive to the Triskelion was done in nine.

She parked and hurried through the atrium nodding perfunctorily toward security and the few handlers and agents that were milling into the building, all set for an early and productive morning. Sharon internally cheered when she was able to secure an elevator to herself. She slipped inside just as the doors were sliding shut.

“Director Fury’s office,” she instructed to the panel as the computerized image of a woman scanned her quickly.

 _“Confirmed,”_ the robotic voice volleyed back as the elevator began to rise. Sharon leaned back against the bar and watched with faint interest as she rose higher than the DC skyline. The horizon was a faint blue with the imminent sunrise coming shortly.

She hoped Rogers was enjoying his daily morning marathon.

She looked up as the elevator came to a halt and opened. Giving a nod to Fury’s secretary she strode purposefully into Fury’s spacious, minimalistic office, all chrome and steel. It was a very cold and imposing space, much like Fury himself.

“Agent,” he greeted from behind his desk, sitting poised and regal. He was like a panther coming out of a nap with its tail flickering lazily.

“Director,” she addressed, coming to a stop right before the desk and standing idly with her hands at her sides. She was mentally preparing herself for the momentous task Fury was about to place on her shoulders. A Level ROUNDHOUSE was no joke. They were life and death scenarios. 

“What’s the situation?” she asked briskly, not wanting to waste time. Fury, however, seemed in no particular hurry as he turned to take her in fully and asked, “Have you ever heard of the _Lemurian Star_?”

Sharon blinked. She hadn’t been expecting that. After taking a moment to collect herself she shook her head. A moment later a 3D hologram of a ship popped up into view as Sharon intently took in the floating image.

“It’s a ship, more specifically a mobile satellite launch platform that was situated off the coast of Indonesia when thirty minutes ago it was boarded and taken by this man.”

Next to the ship, an image of a bulking man flashed to life. He was broad with a buzzed head of hair. He looked dangerous.

“Georges Batroc: a famed mercenary. He and 25 of his cronies took over the ship taking both its crew and supplies hostage. I need you, Rogers and Bravo STRIKE to go and retake the ship and rescue the hostages.”

Sharon stared at him blankly for a few moments. Of all the things she had imagined, it certainly hadn’t been this. She blinked a few times before clearing her throat.

“With all due respect, sir, but I don’t see how a simple mission like this is enough to warrant a Level ROUNDHOUSE. I mean, a mission like this, we’re in and out in less than 20 minutes. Am I missing something? Where’s the urgency?”

Fury regarded her silently for several long minutes before smirking, satisfied with her quick thinking brain. He reached into a side drawer and pulled out a silver flash drive.

“This is where the urgency lies.”

“I don’t understand,” Sharon responded, feeling far more confused that she should. At this point, all she wanted was to crawl back into bed. Luckily the caffeine was beginning to kick in and she felt her brain finally turning on. Maybe things would begin to make sense now that she was feeling like an actual person and not a zombie.

Fury turned to the holograms and with some finessed hand waving was able to bring up blueprints of the ship, highlighting one room in particular off the main deck.

“Located here is an advanced computer system. I need you to hack it and upload everything you can onto the hard drive and return it to me. That is your mission. Leave the hostages to Rogers.”

Sharon internally groaned and sent a hard glare towards Fury. Yet another thing to keep from Rogers. She had been working with the Avenger for nearly two years and a large gap still separated the pair. She knew at the heart of it was because he didn’t trust her fully, because she kept things from him, things like her name and her relationship to Peggy Carter. She was growing sick of the secrecy. More and more lately she felt like she was crawling out of her own skin every time she interacted with her partner. She wasn’t like Natasha who thrived in keeping secrets and changing her personality at the drop of a hat.

The truth of the matter was she… _liked_ Rogers. She wanted to be his friend. But he’d never let her too close (despite the numerous playdates), always keeping her at arm’s length, and she knew that even if he did learn her name he’d just push her away further for lying to him for so long.

She was trapped between a rock and a hard place and she could see no way out. But even she could see she wasn’t doing herself any favors by letting Fury make her lie to him about the mission.

She huffed and leveled Fury with an icy scowl.

“You know I don’t like keeping things from Rogers.”

Fury - the bastard - raised a single eyebrow mockingly as Sharon bristled.

“Well, besides from the obvious.”

“I know this isn’t your usual style," Fury admitted. "And under normal circumstances, I would gladly give this to Romanoff, but with her being in Armenia, you’re my eyes and ears on this. The extraction of that data is of the utmost importance.”

Sharon bit her lip as she crossed her arms over her chest, weighing her options. Finally, she sighed and looked towards Fury.

“You better have a good reason for suggesting something like this.”

Fury’s mouth upturned into his version of a smile. To others, it appeared more like a scowl but Sharon knew better.

“I do, in fact.”

The blonde snorted derisively. “Oh, yeah? And what’s that?”

“Two words: Project Insight.”

Sharon froze on the spot. For months she had been hearing whispers throughout SHIELD of Project Insight. Once she had seen a folder titled ‘Project Insight’ on Stanford’s desk but he had been quick to get it away from her prying eyes. She had no idea what it was but she knew it was big. In a way that could alter SHIELD forever, if the gossip was to be believed. Sharon could feel tendrils of excitement shooting off through her veins and for a moment she felt like a giddy school girl again.

It lasted less than ten seconds before she returned to glaring at Fury.

Oh, he was good. But she wouldn’t give into it quite so easily.

She faked a yawn while batting her brown eyes. “Sorry, haven’t heard of it,” she feigned in a bored fashion as Fury chuckled.

“Somehow I don’t believe you, Agent 13. You’ve been chomping at the bits to know what it is.”

That was so true. She could feel her conviction wavering as she stood before him. A true agent always knew when they were at a disadvantage and she was at the end of her rope.

“Okay, I give in. What’s Project Insight?” She leaned in, placing both hands on the desk as she eagerly awaited Fury’s response. Fury chuckled and with a few clicks of his digital keyboard, the holograms of Batroc and the _Lemurian Star_ disappeared only to be replaced by the images of three helicarriers.

They were…nice, Sharon guessed, if one had never seen a helicarrier before. However, to someone like her who spent a fair amount of time on the flying contraptions, it was nothing to throw a party over.

“They’re helicarriers, sir,” she said slowly as Fury nodded.

“Yes, Agent, they are, but not any helicarriers you’ve seen before. These are three next-generation helicarriers synced to a network of targeting satellites.”

It didn’t take a genius to see where this was going.

“The _Lemurian Star,_ ” she deduced as Fury nodded in approval.

“They have continuous suborbital flight and they have new long-range precision guns that can eliminate a thousand hostiles a minute. The satellites have the capabilities of reading the DNA of every terrorist in the system and taking them out, one by one.”

Sharon felt her stomach flip as she stared intently at the holograms.

“That’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen,” she murmured in awe.

Fury's eyes gleamed as he proclaimed, “No, Agent, that’s what we call a game changer.”

The blonde spy straightened and looked at Fury for a moment before speaking. “What does this have to do with the flash drive?”

“The information aboard the _Lemurian Star_ is imperative to Project Insight. I need everything you can get me. So, Carter, are you in?”

He held out the flash drive to her as she focused her gaze upon it. She hesitated only a moment before reaching out, taking the hard drive and pocketing it.

“And you’re sure this is vital for this…Project Insight?”

“Of course." Fury's mouth curled up. "Would I lie?”

Sharon rolled her eyes.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that." Sharon exhaled deeply before setting her gaze on Fury. "Fine, I’ll do your dirty work. But you get to handle Rogers when he inevitably figures it out and goes into a righteous conniption.”

Fury couldn’t help but snort, “I’ll be sure to clear my schedule. Rumlow and the rest are already gathering in the hanger. I leave it up to you to bring Rogers in and bring him up to speed on his half of the mission. Good luck, Sharon.”

“Luck is for the weak and simple-minded,” she declared with a nod before turning on her heel and leaving the office, the flash drive burning a hole in her pocket. She entered the elevator, ordered the computer to take her to the parking garage, and absentmindedly noted that during her time with Fury the sun had risen over DC, promising a bright and sunny, early spring day.

She pulled her SHIELD cell phone out of her pocket and with a few clicks of the buttons she had located Rogers due to the tracking device that was situated in every SHIELD phone. True to form the super soldier was still on his morning run, enjoying the sun and the sights at the National Mall.

When the elevator door swished open she hurried to her car and just as she got in her phone went off with a new text message. A quick check showed it was from Natasha.  

**From Natasha Romanoff:**

_Have a new joke for you to try out on Rogers ;)_

Sharon snorted as she read the one-liner and pocketed the phone, tearing off and heading towards the National Mall. As she was breezing through early morning traffic, not yet on the cusp of rush hour, she periodically checked her phone to see where Rogers’ dot would lead her. She saw that the moving circle had finally stopped and was hanging out at the corner of Pennsylvania and 3rd. Well, that made things easier.

When she was a minute out she fired off a quick text to the Avenger.

**To Rogers:**

_Mission alert. Extraction imminent. Meet at the curb._

If she was Natasha, she’d end the text with a ridiculous emoji to try and invoke even a slight grin out of the usually stoic super soldier. But Rogers wouldn’t appreciate it coming from her, as hard as she tried to be friendly with her partner. The worst thing was, at times it truly seemed like they were taking steps forward only to take two back. It was an infuriating yet seemingly never-ending cycle that the two SHIELD agents found themselves in.

Maybe this was just her lot in life she mused silently as she came upon the curb just in time to see Rogers - decked out in his ridiculously tight running gear that showed off  _everything_ \- shaking hands with a dark-skinned man who had clearly also been out for a jog. Sharon raised an eyebrow curiously at the scene.

Interesting.

Had Rogers made a new friend? He never makes new friends. Just work colleagues and a very rapid fan club that had a devoted following.

Sharon was pulled out of her musings as Rogers began walking towards her, the other man clearly admiring the sleek stingray as it shone in the morning light. Sharon preened with noticeable pride. Her baby was beautiful. Feeling playful and secretly excited at the prospect of Rogers making a new friend, she rolled down the window and led with Nat’s joke.

“Hey, fellas,” she greeted with a winning smile. “Either one of you know where the Smithsonian is? I’m here to pick up a fossil.”

“That’s hilarious,” Rogers dryly quipped as he easily slipped into the vehicle. The other man hadn’t left but had rather taken a knee so as to make eye contact with Sharon.

“How you doing?” he asked with a wide, gap-toothed grin and warm, flirtatious eyes. Sharon felt rather than saw Rogers roll his eyes as she smirked at the stranger.

“Hello there,” she responded with a coy wink. She couldn’t remember the last time she partook in some innocent, schoolyard flirting. Certainly not since Neal and she had first started out hot and heavy and then morphed that into a semblance of an actual relationship. But harmless flirting like this was fun. It also didn’t hurt that the man was easy on the eyes. Of course, it was at this point Rogers had to step in and ruin her fun, like the crotchety grandpa he secretly was. He shot her a look before tilting his head towards the jogger.

“You can’t run everywhere,” he said with an amiable shrug of his broad shoulders.

Look at that, they already had inside jokes. Adorable.

The man chuckled, shaking his head as Sharon watched him inquisitively.

“No, you can’t.”

Just to show off a bit, Sharon revved the engine before tearing onto 3rd, zooming around the Mall. Traffic had increased but she was fairly certain she could get back to the Triskelion in under five minutes. Next to her Rogers settled into his seat, drinking from the water bottle Sharon had waiting for him, before finally giving her his full attention.

“Romanoff send you joke material at my expense?”

Sharon felt a smile grow on her face as she turned onto Independence and doubled back towards the Triskelion.

“She was very proud of that one," the blonde chimed in. "Should I tell her it was just a tad _prehistoric_ to be funny?”

The spy laughed at her own pun while Rogers shook his head despairingly and deadpanned, “Hysterical. I work with a bunch of comedians.”

“Ah, you secretly love it. So,” she said turning her eyes towards the man as he raised a confused eyebrow.

“So?” he parroted back as Sharon sighed exasperatedly, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel absentmindedly.

“Who was that adorable hunk of a man from your meet cute?”

“Meet cute?” Rogers' eyebrows were furrowed in a way that reminded Sharon of a befuddled golden retriever. Man, he had such an endearing face. No wonder Captain America was so many women's favorite Avenger.

“We’ll get to that later," Sharon assured the super soldier. "Give me the all the details, Rogers, who is he?”

Rogers looked ahead as he gave her the bare minimum. “His name is Sam.”

“And?” Sharon pushed. It wasn’t every day she could grill him about things like this. She’d have to text Natasha when she had a free moment. She’d die over this.

“And he’s recently out of the armed forces after doing two tours. He works for the VA and he likes to jog. I’ve passed him before a few times, we finally talked today.”

“What branch was he in?” Sharon asked, interested. Call it meddling, but Sharon was only being a good partner. Rogers needed a life, ASAP.

“Air force, para-rescue.”

“Sexy.”

“Stop,” Rogers ordered from his seat but even with his expertly detached facial expression, Sharon could see a hint of amusement in the corner of his baby blue eyes. He clearly was in a good mood. Knowing that made Sharon’s heart warm a bit. She liked him when he was happy. He was definitely easier to manage.

“Is he your new best friend?”

“What’s the mission, Thirteen?”

Seeing that her time for making fun of him had passed, she pouted and checked her rearview mirror.

“You’re no fun.”

“Mission report,” he repeated his voice finally conveying a sense of impatience as Sharon sighed, feeling the flash drive in her pocket. She looked out the window for a moment before turning back to Rogers.

“It’s a walk in the park. A ship’s been taken over, we need to go and rescue the hostages. Rumlow will give us the specifics on the quinjet.”

Rogers nodded, satisfied, and Sharon glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

The clawing feeling of wanting to tear out her skin had returned.

Lovely.

Her fingers tightened uneasily around her steering wheel.

All they needed to do was make it through the mission.

 

* * *

 

 

**_March 31 st, 2014 _ **

**_Above the Indian Ocean_ **

 

Less than an hour later found Sharon, in her white tactical suit, aboard a quinjet that was rapidly coming upon the _Lemurian Star’s_ location on the Indian Ocean. She, Rogers and the rest of STRIKE Team Bravo found themselves crammed around a holoscreen as Rumlow laid out the basics of the mission parameters.

During the ride over Sharon had read up on their mercenary Batroc. He had quite an impressive rap sheet. She noted even Rogers’ interest had been piqued from where he had been reading his tablet. He too was outfitted in his dark, navy stealth suit, his trusty shield resting idly by the closed hatch of the quinjet.

She turned her attention towards Rumlow as he droned on,

“The target is a mobile satellite launch platform: the _Lemurian Star_. It was sending up their last payload when pirates took them, ninety-three minutes ago.”

“Any demands?” Rogers inquired, his eyebrows furred intently, a true sign his game face was on and that he was in full on Captain America mode.

“A billion and a half.,” Rumlow responded smartly. Sharon whistled lowly, that was quite a sum.

“Why so steep?”

“Because it’s SHIELD’s,” Rumlow retorted matter-of-factly as Rogers scowled, his face darkening.

“So it’s not off course,” Rogers surmised acerbically, turning towards Sharon. “It’s trespassing.”

He might as well have accused her of already knowing that. Which she had, but it was better he didn’t know that. Thanks for nothing, Fury.

“I’m sure they have a good reason,” Sharon interjected, trying to throw Rogers off the scent.

“You know,” Rogers directed at her. “I’m getting a little tired of playing Fury’s janitor.”

His posture was tense and his face was giving nothing away. She was tempted to squeeze his shoulder in comfort but she doubted it’d do anything to help, especially when coming from her. All she could do was try and contain the beast before it got unruly.

“Relax,” she advised softly. “It’s not that complicated.”

Her words must have had some effect because Rogers’ stance softened just an inch as he turned back to Rumlow, all business.

“How many pirates?”

“Twenty-five, top mercs, led by this guy, Georges Batroc.”

The same image Fury had shown her of the man appeared into thin air as the team took it in.

“Ex- DGSE, Action Division. He’s at the top of Interpol’s ‘red notice.’ Before the French demobilized him he had 36 kill missions. The guy’s got a rep for maximum casualties.”

Rogers nodded to himself before asking, “Hostages?”

“Um,” Rumlow looked through his reports before grunting the affirmative. “Mostly techs. One officer, Jasper Sitwell. They’re in the gallery.”

Sharon raised an eyebrow at the mention of Sitwell. Fury hadn’t breathed a word about him.

To her right ,Rogers was equally confused. “What’s Sitwell doing on a launch ship?” he asked Sharon as she shrugged bemusedly in return. Rogers quickly took control of the crowd, everyone hanging onto his every word.

“Alright, I'm gonna sweep the deck and find Batroc. Thirteen, you'll kill the engines and wait for instructions. Rumlow, you sweep aft, find the hostages, get them to life pods. Get 'em out. Let's go.”

Rumlow nodded and bellowed to his team, “STRIKE, you heard the Captain. Gear up!”

The motley crew dispersed to every corner of the quinjet, strapping guns and gear onto their persons as Sharon headed to her own cubby, clipping her XIII utility belt around her waist.

“Secure channel seven,” Rogers directed from next to her as she raised a hand to her comm.

“Seven secure,” she replied before turning fully towards the Avenger and asked conversationally, “Did you do anything fun Saturday night?”

Ever since Dr. Abbot’s assessment on Rogers’ mental health, Sharon had been on a mission to get the super soldier a hobby. She had taken him on playdates all throughout DC: museums, restaurants, parks, etc. Nothing had seemed to capture the Captain’s fancy quite yet, but Sharon wasn’t giving up. She was tenacious that way.

“Well,” Rogers began as he buckled his helmet. “All the guys from my barbershop quartet are dead, so…no, not really.”

Sharon snorted lightly at the expert use of deadpan. The man had a true gift for it.

 _“Coming up by the drop zone, Cap,”_ the pilot’s voice announced through the speakers. Rogers turned and punched the hatch button. Red lights began blinking as the hatch opened, wind sweeping into the quinjet, rustling Sharon's long hair.

This was it.

“So," Sharon asked. "You got a name for me?”

Rogers just looked at her with a raised eyebrow, leaving her in suspense as she pressed her lips together.

“Come on," she goaded, "Don’t hold out on me. It’s a tradition. It’s our thing.” She gestured between the two of them. And it was true, for the last year and a half Rogers had thrown out random names at her as a way of guessing her true name. It was an inane game, but it was something they did. It was _their_ thing. Every time he ventured a guess always left Sharon feeling warm on the inside, though she would rather go to the grave than admit that aloud to anyone.

Rogers looked away as he strapped his shield to his back, looking like he was thinking intently. As he lowered his arm he looked at her and pointed.

“Eunice.”

_Eunice?_

Sharon wrinkled her nose, feeling momentarily insulted. “Not even close.”

Rogers smirked. “Exactly.”

Sharon looked away to secure her belt and when she turned back, Rogers had vanished. Her eyes widened before taking in the sight of the open hatch and the darkness outside. She groaned aloud, shaking her head exasperatedly.

“Not again,” she muttered as Rollins stepped forward, staring out the hatch in shock.

“Was he wearing a parachute?” he questioned as Rumlow stepped up from behind, strapping on his bulletproof vest and chuckling.

“No. No, he wasn’t.”

“I bet 50 dollars he’s taken out the whole deck crew before we even land,” Patterson, a STRIKE team member, wagered from across the quinjet. Several voices answered in the affirmative of the bet while Sharon turned and did a final weapon check. She had two stun batons attached to her calves, a Glock 19 and FNX-45 Tactical in her thigh holsters, and her belt was filled to the brim with various SHIELD gadgets and gizmos. If those failed, she still had her fists and she was always itching for a good boxing match.

She slipped on her parachute on and tightened the straps until she was snug and secured.

 _“Approaching the drop point,”_ the pilot announced over the speakers as the team started gathering around the hatch. Rumlow pushed his way next to Sharon and gestured in the perfect pantomime of a gentleman, which he was most definitely not. A gentleman and Rumlow? Laughable.

“Ladies first.”

“Wouldn’t that mean you, Rumlow?” she questioned back with a snigger as he grinned wolfishly at her, dark eyes glinting.

“Oh trust me, Thirteen, I’m _all_ man.”

Snickers abounded across the group of men as Sharon rolled her eyes.

“See you boys at the bottom.” She stepped forward, her hair whipping in the wind as she glanced down, seeing nothing but murky blackness below. With a deep breath, she stepped off the quinjet. She held in her crow of adrenaline as her body dived through the night sky, the wind howling in her ears as she fell fast towards the choppy ocean below, the cool air slapping her cheeks. As she broke through the clouds she saw the lights of the _Lemurian Star_ guiding her in towards her landing spot. She felt the adrenaline surging through her as various STRIKE team members appeared in her periphery while the ship grew closer and closer.

When the ship seemed near enough she, along with the rest of the team, pulled her chute and ignored the harsh jerk of her body as her plunge slowed. As they neared the _Lemurian Star_ she could feel the sea breeze on her face and could smell the salt as she glided downward gracefully.

Even from this distance, she could see various unconscious bodies loitered across the top deck. Rogers had made quick work of them, as usual. He was a one-man punching machine. A flash of navy showed Rogers delivering a fierce roundhouse kick to a pirates’ head. That had to hurt like a motherfucker.

Rogers took out the remaining mercenaries with ease but he hadn’t noticed the one that came up from behind. He cocked the gun at Rogers’ head just as the Man with the Plan was reaching for his shield.

“Rumlow,” Sharon said in her comm to the STRIKE commander as he pulled out his gun.

 _“I see it,”_ he replied positioning the gun. A moment later a shot rang out and the man dropped like a sack of potatoes. Rogers looked up as Rumlow landed, Sharon and STRIKE in tow.

“Thanks,” Rogers said with sincerity as Rumlow snorted, cocking his head.

“Yeah, you seemed pretty helpless without me.”

Sharon landed gracefully, her boots not even making a sound as she unclipped her pack, the parachute billowing behind her in the strong sea breeze. She ran a hand through her windswept hair as she started moving towards the engine room, keeping pace with Rogers.

“Any other names come to mind?" she all but pleaded. "I’m almost offended you thought I could be a Eunice.”

“Secure the engine room," he barked at her. "Then we can discuss whether or not you look like a Eunice.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” she reminded him before launching herself off the upper deck. She landed in a neat squat, looking up to see STRIKE members fanning out across the ship. Remembering the blueprints of the ship, she moved expertly towards the engine room, mindful of open spaces and corners. Luckily Rogers seemed to have taken out nearly half of the pirates, making her job easier. She knew the engine room was in the bowels of the ship and the best way to get there would be to take the main stairwell that went down deck by deck.

The only problem was that according to the thermal scans her sensors were picking up, there was a fair amount of mercenaries on all of the levels she would need to bypass, with three pirates hanging out in the engine room. She guessed she’d be making a hell of an entrance.

Sneaking quietly towards the main stairwell she heard the various murmurs of the pirates, all of them speaking French. She ducked behind a beam and peaked out, seeing a lone pirate speaking lowly on a walkie-talkie. He was standing next to the open space of the deck, the stairs flowing down towards the engine room.

She needed to get there if she was going to secure the engine room in enough time for STRIKE and Rogers to make their moves. Suddenly an idea came to her as she fingered the grappling hook on her belt.

Well, this could be fun.

Moving stealthily towards the pirate she appeared right at his back just as he turned around. Grinning seductively at the pirate, she acted as casual as a girl picking up a guy at a bar.

“Hey, sailor," she greeted with a beguiling grin. "Come here often?”

Not giving him time to respond, she aimed a kick at his kneecap, strong enough to cripple him as he went down with a howl. She retracted her grappling hook from her belt and wrung it around his neck, leaving him gurgling loudly for air. Reaching up and kicking him in the chest, he went flying into the opposite wall, gasping for breath. Sharon leaned back against the railing, glanced down and flipped herself back over the edge. She sailed down the stairwell, the pirate above holding her weight, and deck by deck she soared by, shooting every moving target she could see.

Her body came to a rough stop as the wiring ended just as she had shot a man beneath her, his dead body hiding her from below. According to her readings, there were two pirates a deck below the pair and she only had seconds before they’d start firing at her. Ducking her hands out from around the dead pirate below her she fired off four shots and listened as two heavy thuds followed them.

Excellent, and she hadn’t even broken a sweat.

Detaching the hook from her belt she landed daintily next to the dead pirate. She rose and looked over the railing, she was still two decks above from the engine room. Seeing no other signs of life she quickly moved down the stairs, keeping her footsteps light.

It was when she was a deck above the engine room, overlooking the space as she crept through a crawl space, keeping an eye on the three mercenaries keeping guard, each holding a rifle. She was thinking up a plan when Rogers’ strained came through her comm.

_“Thirteen, what’s your status?”_

She groaned and launched herself out of her hiding spot, landing in a silent kneel as a pirate walked a few paces ahead of her, completely unaware of her presence. She stood and took off in a run.

 _“Status, Thirteen?”_ Rogers’ voice was insistent.

“Give me a second!” she growled back just as the pirate turned, she jumped up, her hands securing around his neck as she twisted it sharply to the right, it snapping soundly as he fell to the floor in a heap. She lunged up to her feet and had a second to herself as Pirate #2 came bounding around the corner, rifle poised and ready to fire. She was able to land a punch to his side, effectively taking out a few ribs. He cried out in pain, raising his rifle as she reached up, snapping his wrist. He dropped the gun as he yelped in surprise, taking a step back as she landed a few punches and elbow strikes upon his person. Turning quickly she dropped to her feet, sticking her leg out and quickly sweeping him off his feet as he fell to the floor hard.

Hearing the heavy tread of Pirate #3 coming up from behind she straightened and landed an impressive knee stomp to his left leg, causing him to buckle and stumble back. She ran forward and utilized a moved Natasha had shown her. She jumped up, legs wrapping around the man's neck as she threw all of her weight backward, pulling him down to the ground. She flipped and landed daintily on her feet as the man hit the ground, groaning. Delivering a right strike to his face she pivoted on her feet and completed an effective roundhouse kick that left Pirate #3 seeing stars as he laid sprawled out across the deck.

Shaking her head she brought her hand up to her comm, activating it.

“Engine room secured,” she announced to Rogers, feeling satisfied at a job well done. Hearing a noise behind her, she grabbed for a nearby wrench and turned just in time to clobber a slightly recovered Pirate #2 across the face as he went down cold. She ventured to the engines and within minutes had killed them, halting the ship dead in its tracks. In the silence of the engine room, she pulled out the flash drive, staring down at it reluctantly.

Rogers’ orders were for her to join Rumlow and STRIKE at the rendezvous point. Fury’s orders were something else entirely.

Okay, she could do this. If she was fast enough Rogers wouldn’t even know about her _little_ side trip.

“Time to get down to business,” she muttered to herself pocketing the flash drive and taking off towards the stairs, making her way back to the top deck where the computer system lay. The sounds of battle playing in her ear as she listened absentmindedly. She followed the map in her head and sooner than expected she came to the main deck of the ship, the wind rustling her hair. Turning left she quickly came to the correct room, and of course, the door was locked. Bending down into a crouch she pulled a bobby pin from her hair and forcibly unlocked it, her tongue poking out of her mouth as she concentrated. She pushed open the door and shut it behind her as she moved quickly to the computer system.

Its set up was nothing special and in a few minutes, she had infiltrated the mainframe. She followed the digital trail and hit the jackpot as file after file came up on the screen. She inserted the flash drive and began downloading everything she came across, her eyes racing across the screen, following the process of the download. She was at 84% when Rumlow’s voice echoed in her ear.

_“Hostages enroot to extraction. Agent 13 missed the rendezvous point, Captain. Hostiles are still in play.”_

Well, there went her hope of getting out of this scotch free. Damn Fury to hell.

Rogers sounded less than thrilled as he responded, _“Thirteen, Batroc's on the move.”_ She paused at that but kept typing. _“Circle back to Rumlow and protect the hostages.”_

When no answer came he growled sharply, _“Thirteen!”_

“Sorry, Rogers,” she whispered, safe in the comfort that her comm was on silent mode. “But you don’t pay my bills.”

It seemed no time had passed at all and she was at 93% when she a heavy thud from outside. She glanced up for a moment before shaking her head and getting back to the task at hand. That proved a mistake when the door flew backward, completely ripped off its hinges, as Batroc and Rogers came tumbling into the room. She watched in fascination as Rogers, on top of Batroc, delivered a punch so brutal it knocked the Algerian clear out till Sunday. Impressed and a bit demure Sharon knew the jig was up and she’d have to come clean. Clearing her throat, she went for nonchalant as Rogers looked up at her, surprise coloring his face.

“Nice punch,” she complimented, nodding towards Batroc. “You’ll have to teach it to me sometime.”

Rogers stood and stalked towards her, a frown marring his handsome face.

“What are you doing?” he questioned, his eyes taking in the computer screen and the various files broadcasted across the screen.

“Backing up the hard drive. It’s a good habit to get into,” she answered flippantly, hoping to look indifferent to his impending disappointment. It was something she was used to after their near two years of partnership.

“Rumlow needed your help," he berated. "Where the hell were you?”

There it was.

He came to her side and fully took in the scene and everything she was saving.

“You’re saving SHIELD intel,” he surmised astutely as she bobbed her head.

“Anything and everything,” she looked at her progression screen and sighed in relief when she saw she was at 97%. Only a few more seconds and she’d be good to go.

“Our mission is to rescue hostages.” Anger was laced through his words as he narrowed his eyes at his partner.

“No," Sharon corrected. " _Your_ mission was to rescue hostages and you’ve done it spectacularly like you always do. _This,"_ she gestured to the computer screen. "Is my mission.”

The computer beeped as the download finished. She pulled the flash drive and slipped it into her belt as she moved to step around Rogers' form.

“And now it’s complete. Can we go now?”

She hadn’t even taken a step when he gripped her arm, halting her progression as he jerked her fully towards him, nostrils flaring angrily.

“You just jeopardized this whole operation,” he accused, his eyes boring holes into her head as she unsuccessfully tried to fight his unrelenting grip. If there was one thing she hated, it was being accused of being the weak link. She stopped struggling and looked up at the Captain as she retorted spitefully.

“That’s rather dramatic, don’t you think?”

Movement from the corner of her eye caught her attention as both she and Rogers turned in time to see a very conscious Batroc rising and running towards the door, but not before activating a grenade and throwing it their way. As Rogers deflected it with his shield Sharon searched for an exit. Not finding any her eyes landed on an office off the main room. It’d have to do.

Running towards it, she wasn’t surprised when Rogers scooped her up in his arms as if she weighed nothing. Tucking her feet beneath her and wrapping an arm around his shoulders, she shot out one of the windows as Rogers jumped up, leaping over a monitor and hurtling them into the office just as the grenade went off.

_BOOM._

The explosion rang in Sharon’s ears as they hit the ground hard, Rogers curling around her to protect her from any flying debris. She could feel the heat of the fire at her back and she was pretty sure her whole side was bruised. All she could feel was her body throbbing as she laid on the floor, the world slowly righting itself around her.

Rogers released her, sitting up against the wall as she struggled into an upright position, billowing smoke filling the air and making it hard to breathe as soot and ash settled over them. She glanced back into the wreck and saw no sign of Batroc.

“Okay,” she admitted aloud, voice raspy from coughing. “That was my bad.”

Rogers scowled at her before standing and securing his shield to his back.

“You’re damn right it is.” The words were quiet yet painted with thinly restrained rage. He was truly pissed and it was all her fault, as usual.

He left her behind without another glance as she watched him go. She banged her head back into the wall and slumped forward, letting the sting of her bruises sink in.

“Excellent job, Carter.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back, back again. Sharon's back, tell a friend. :) 
> 
> I was totally planning on leaving you guys on the hook for a few more days, but I was too excited about posting this first chapter to wait. I'm excited to be kicking off this second installment of Sharon's ongoing adventures. We are now in the thick of the CATWS storyline. I'm really excited to see where this story takes us. Also, one thing I can promise all of you lovely readers is that within the first ten chapters of this story Steve will learn Sharon's name! 
> 
> Also, anyone worried Natasha won't have a large role to play during CATWS, have no fear, she definitely has a large role to play and will be making her appearance shortly! 
> 
> Also, regarding the platonic tag of Sharon/Steve/Sam/Natasha it is all inclusive of twosomes, threesomes and all four. I just didn't want to tag them all individually, so I tagged it as a group, but it comprises all the individual friendships. 
> 
> Please, please, please review! They were a godsend during the first story and I would love to hear all your guys' thoughts on this bad boy. 
> 
> Pic time!
> 
> Sharon's bedroom:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/39227399115/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Sharon's hair (color/length/style) for the story:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/39663239392/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Sharon's jacket:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/25822169488/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Sharon's jeans:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/25822169388/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Sharon's boots:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/25822169578/in/dateposted-public/)


	2. Nothing's Right Before Its Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You didn’t see his face, Nick.” Sharon looked down guiltily as the image of Rogers’ angered expression remained seared in her brain.
> 
> “It was one mission – “
> 
> “It’s not just this mission," she cut in harshly, "It’s all the missions. It’s the last two years. Everything between me and Rogers…it’s built off a lie. I can’t take it anymore.”

**_March 31 st, 2014_ **

**_Washington, D.C._ **

 

The apartment was dark and silent as Sharon limped through the front door. She flipped on a light switch, momentarily shielding her eyes as she threw her keys into a side dish and lumbered towards the bathroom. She shrugged, with minor difficulties, out of her leather jacket and flung it carelessly down the hallway. Turning on the light she took in her disheveled appearance in the mirror. Ash was caked to her skin and woven into her wavy hair.

With a groan, she pulled up her tank top and took in the scattering of bruises dancing across her stomach and back. By the way they were already darkening, she could tell they would end up being nasty ones, the kind that lingers for weeks and reign on the spectrum from deep purple to sickly green. At least the pain meds she had picked up in Medical were kicking in, she could already feel her head going loose and fuzzy. Dropping her cami, she shuffled into her bedroom, discarding clothes as she went.

Making a beeline towards her closest, she emerged from it in an oversized t-shirt of Neal's. It was a comfy shirt; 100% cotton and all that. She halted at the foot of her queen bed and stared at it longingly. She had been missing it all day. Face planting onto the comforter she heaved in a deep breath and starfished across the bed, taking up as much room as possible.

She knew she shouldn’t have left her bed this morning. Nothing good had come out of it.

A flash of Rogers’ irate face and the echoes of his indignant rage rang through her head.

She just couldn’t do anything right when it came to him. Hell, he liked Natasha more than he did her, and he was aware she was lying to him on a daily basis.

She was pulled from her morose thoughts as her phone began ringing next to her. Turning her head she limply reached for it and checked to see who was calling at such a late hour.

**Natasha Romanoff**

Speak of the devil.

She clicked the call button and brought the phone up to her ear.

_“What did you do?”_

Sharon sighed and rolled onto her back, staring up at the textured ceiling

“Hello, Nat. I’m doing well,” Sharon sarcastically quipped. “Thanks for asking. How are you? Enjoying Armenia?”

_“Armenia sucks ass. Now back to my question.”_

“Ah, yes, your question,” Sharon mused lazily. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

_“Don’t be coy, Carter. I got a text from Twenty-Nine saying Rogers has been stomping around his apartment rearranging furniture. You and I both know he only does that when missions have gone sideways. So, as a good friend-"_

“Meddler,” Sharon cut it.

_“ **Friend,** I looked into your guys’ latest mission that happened all of a few hours ago. It looked like a simple hostage scenario to me, no room for error. In fact, the mission was rather below both you and Rogers. So I ask again, what did you do?” _

Silence rang throughout the room as Natasha worked it out, and hummed thoughtfully to herself.

_“Or rather, what did Fury make you do?”_

Sharon breathily exhaled as she debated the merits of telling Nat. On the one hand, she didn’t feel the need to share her humiliation and low self-esteem with anyone other than herself. On the other hand, it was Natasha and she would figure out the dirty details one way or another. Better to just give in than to fight a losing battle.

“Well, there was _the_ mission and then there was a… _side_ mission that Rogers’ wasn’t privy to.”

_“Ah, it all makes sense now. On a scale from 1 to 10 how pissed was he?”_

“He was sailing pretty high at a 12 last time I saw him.”

_“Yikes. What did Fury bait you with to go behind Rogers’ back? It’s not like you to keep things from him…besides the obvious.”_

She laughed at her own joke. It worried Sharon how much they thought alike sometimes. She rolled onto her side and absentmindedly played with her hair, smelling the faint odor of smoke clinging to her blonde tresses. Maybe she should shower…nope, too lazy for that. It was fine, she could just pretend she had come back from a bonfire and had not been nearly killed by an Algerian mercenary and had the weight of Captain America’s disappointment on her shoulders. Well, she wasn’t about to buckle under that weight, that was for sure.

“Let’s just say he dangled something in front of me that I couldn’t refuse.”

It didn’t take a genius to hear the clicking of Nat’s brain as her curiosity came in full force.

_“Care to share with the class?”_

“I’m on thin enough ice with Rogers, I don’t need to do the same with Fury. Sorry, Nat, secrets are secrets. You taught me that,” she replied with a smirk.

_“Boo, you whore.”_

“Whatever, I’m getting cheese fries,” Sharon quoted back without even missing a beat.

_“Impressive, Regina George. I’ll catch you on the flip side.”_

“Happy hunting, short-stack.”

She threw her phone to the side and slumped back down onto her bed. Her stomach gave a faint rumble of hunger pains, but the blonde spy was too exhausted to deal with it. She’d just have a big breakfast tomorrow.

She blindly reached for her lamp and flipped the switch, plunging the room into darkness as she curled up into a ball and fell fast into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

**_April 1 st, 2014_ **

**_The Triskelion_ **

****

“This better have been worth it, Nick,” Sharon announced as she strolled into his office. None of the wear and tear of the mission showing on her face.

Fury, as always, was seated at his massive desk and look as uninterested in her presence as ever. Honestly, she didn’t even know why she bothered with him sometimes. Besides the brunches he treated her to occasionally. Who was she kidding, she loved the one-eyed, hard-ass director who seemed to take joy out of her misery and frustration. She was a bit of a masochist, she could admit that. It was part of the job description.

“That remains to be seen,” he replied, watching her closely as she came to stand before his desk.

“How was the mission? A success?”

Sharon scoffed as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“As if you don’t already know how the mission went. It went about as well as one could expect. Also, FYI, the righteous conniption? He’s waiting outside. So have fun with that.”

She reached into her pocket and tossed the flash drive carelessly onto his chrome desk. Fury glanced down at it before taking a long, hard look at Sharon. After a few beats of silence, his impassive face shifted ever so slightly and Sharon saw the man who used to come to Sunday dinners at the Carter-Sousa household.

“Cater… _Sharon_ , I know I don’t always ask the easy thing from you, but doing the right thing is hardly ever easy.”

“You didn’t see his face, Nick.” Sharon looked down guiltily as the image of Rogers’ angered expression remained seared in her brain.

“It was one mission-"

“It’s not just this mission," she cut in harshly. "It’s all the missions. It’s the last two years. Everything between me and Rogers…it’s built off a lie. I can’t take it anymore.”

“You’re acting like someone is holding a gun to your head demanding you never tell him your name. The truth of the matter is, you made a choice not to tell him your name-"

“Screw you,” Sharon growled, feeling tendrils on anger coiling throughout her body. She pivoted on her heel to march out but was stopped at Fury’s inflexible voice.

“I’m not finished.”

She remained frozen in place, her back to Fury as he continued speaking.

“You can also make a choice to tell him who you are. I won’t forbid it.”

Sharon chuckled dejectedly as she rocked on the tips on her toes and shook her head.

“Yeah, because Rogers will want anything to do with me after that. It’s too late, I’m in the hole and I just have to live with it.”

Seeing that Fury wasn’t going to stop her she walked out of his office only to be assaulted with the sight of the man in question waiting his turn in the lobby, sitting on a very modern looking loveseat. Decked out in his stealth suit with his shield strapped to his back, he was every bit the superhero Erskine had envisioned him to be.

He stood as she began walking towards him, his face as unforgiving as it had been on the _Lemurian Star._ It was clear that time and distance had not softened his anger towards her.

“Captain,” she greeted as he stalked past her, not even giving her a second glance.

_“Partner.”_

His voice was like ice pinpricking her skin, leaving her cold and utterly alone. She stopped and looked over her shoulder, her eyes following the curve of his broad shoulders as he entered Fury’s office, ready to give the director hell, she was sure. She sighed and headed to the elevators.

She wished Peggy could advise her on this. How did one deal with Rogers’ disappointment? Because it felt like living in a world without the sun.

She perked up slightly as an idea began to form in her head.

Maybe today wouldn’t be a total bust after all.

 

* * *

 

 

“And you beat me again. That’s the third time in a row, Aunt Peggy. I’m suspecting foul play,” Sharon teased as she began shuffling the cards.

Peggy was handing her ass to her when it came to cribbage. The game of cribbage was a Carter staple and many a family argument had been started over the pub game.

“I think you have to face the facts, dearest, you’re just not that good of a player.”

Sharon gasped comically as she pouted. “I’m a phenomenal cribbage player, and you know it.”

“Indeed,” Peggy supplied dryly as the two generations of Carter women looked at each for a moment before breaking out into giggles. Sharon leaned into Peggy’s bed as she wiped her eyes for stray tears.

Peggy also took a few moments to regain composure as she looked at her great-niece with affection twinkling in her dark eyes.

“Well, your abysmal game playing aside, I do hope it has proved a fruitful distraction to whatever has been on your mind.”

Sharon looked up guiltily, internally berating herself for her transparency. But then again, she was going up against one of the best. Today was one of Peggy’s good days, and when she was having a good day, it was almost impossible to throw the wool over her eyes.

“Eh, you know how it is. A mission just went a little…sideways, is all. Nothing to write home about.”

“Are you sure?” Peggy questioned as Sharon folded up the cribbage board and set it aside.

“The last few times I’ve seen you, you’ve seemed weighed down. As if something was consuming you from the inside out.”

The blonde blinked before looking away from her inquisitive aunt.

“I just feel like…I’ve lost my way, a bit. I’m struggling getting back to it. I’ll be fine.”

Peggy looked at for several long moments before playing with the fringe of her quilt.

“To be a SHIELD agent, it’s not an easy life.”

“I know that, Aunt Peggy.”

“I was lucky, having Daniel at my side. But even that didn’t make everything smooth sailing, especially with Jill….”

Sharon nodded. She was well versed in the drama that had once existed between Peggy and her daughter. Things were good now, but the bonds were strenuous and no one could forget the years of bitterness and resentment.

Peggy seemed caught up in the memories for a moment before coming back to the present.

“I have always been immensely proud that you’ve chosen this life, to walk in my footsteps and become a SHIELD agent. But I wonder, perhaps I let my pride cloud my judgment. I hope that I never pushed you into this life, dearest. No matter what you would have done, I would have been so proud of you….”

Sharon quickly shook her head and reached for Peggy’s wrinkled hand and held onto it strongly. She never wanted Peggy to feel this kind of guilt over her.

“Hey,” she shushed softly as Peggy stared at her. “I don’t want to hear those words coming out of your mouth. That’s my aunt, you’re talking about.” She flashed a grin towards Peggy as she continued.

“You never pressured me, Aunt Peggy. I chose this life because it’s what I wanted. And it’s still what I want. I’m just…having growing pains right now. But all I’ve ever wanted to be was an agent of SHIELD, and I get to live out that dream every day.”

Peggy chuckled wetly as she reached up and wiped a tear from her aged eyes.

“It makes me so glad to hear you say that, dearest.”

“Well, I don’t have a problem calling you every day and reminding you of that,” Sharon ribbed as Peggy smiled.

“Promises, promises.”

With her composure regained, Peggy sat up fully in her bed and leaned back against her multiple pillows as her grey hair fanned out behind her. The afternoon sun trickled in through the open windows as a light breeze followed in its wake.

“Enough of that,” Peggy said with an air of finality as she looked towards Sharo., “How about we try another game? I wouldn’t mind beating you in Hearts.”

“Oh, is that how it is?” Sharon bantered back as Peggy winked saucily.

“That’s how it is.”

Just as Sharon was about to get out the deck of cards, her phone beeped. She pulled it out and sighed.

Rogers was heading this way.

When he first joined SHIELD, Sharon had set up a tracking malware in his phone so that if he was ever in the near vicinity of Peggy’s care center in Arlington, Sharon would know about it. It had been a way of ensuring the two wouldn’t run into each other while visiting Peggy.

She had never been more grateful for it because the last thing she wanted to see at the moment was Steve Rogers.

Pocketing her phone, she sent an apologetic glance towards Peggy.

“Duty calls,” the former SHIELD director surmised as Sharon nodded, stood, and placed a kiss on Peggy’s forehead.

“Who knows,” Sharon said. “Maybe you’ll get an even better visitor than me.”

“I doubt that,” Peggy replied as she squeezed Sharon’s hand and waved her off. A yawn begrudgingly coming out of her mouth. Sharon gave her one final look before leaving the room.

She hoped Rogers would get the same joy from seeing Peggy as she did.

 

* * *

 

 

Hours later found Sharon sprawled out across her couch with a bottle of wine and a marathon of _Say Yes to the Dress_ awaiting her.

She was a third of the way through her bottle and criticizing a Pnina Tornai abomination when her cell phone rang. Inwardly groaning, she reached for the cell and answered without checking the ID.

“Hello?”

 _“Guess who is back in black!”_ Trip’s exuberant voice echoed in her head as she sat up with a grin.

“Trip! Garrett finally let you loose?” Her cousin had been absent from the Triskelion for the last few months. It was good to have him back, even if only for a little while.

_“That he did. I’m back and ready to partayyyy. Girl, where you at?”_

“Home. Drowning my sorrows.” Sharon took a swig of her wine to reinforce that.

_“Ouch! Dare I ask?”_

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” the blonde replied as she rested her head against the couch cushions.

_“Well, you know what will cheer you up? A night with me, Charlie and Dean playing cards and getting deliciously drunk.”_

The Charlie and Dean he was referring to were Charlie Jones and Dean Nguyen, both descendants of Howling Commandos and notorious troublemakers. The last time Sharon had hung out with the pair, she had woken up in Tijuana, Mexico wearing nothing but a sombrero.

She wasn’t ready to repeat that experience.

“Trip, I don’t know. It’s late-"

_“It’s barely 8 o’clock.”_

“I’m tired.”

_“Well, you best get like the Energizer bunny and shake your cute, little butt over here. And I won’t hear another word about it.”_

“Trip,” Sharon moaned but was met with a dial tone. She threw her phone to the side as she sat up and ran a hand through her hair.

Well, it’s not like she had anything else going for her.

Getting to her feet, she cracked her neck and headed towards her bedroom. She threw on jeans, a striped v-neck, and a grey utility jacket. She zipped up a pair of ankle booties and collected her phone, keys, and wallet before heading to the parking garage.

Time went quickly as she drove to Trip’s apartment in Foggy Bottom. She battled for a parking space on his street and headed up to his third-floor apartment, and was quickly greeted with beer and laughs as Trip regaled her with tales of his travels alongside Garrett as the four played euchre. They were seated on Trip’s deck, ignoring the crispness of the early spring night.

Several hours had passed in the blink of an eye and Sharon was on her third beer when her phone beeped with an incoming text message. She dug it out of her pocket and switched it on, seeing a new text from Maria Hill, of all people. She read it and her blood froze.

**From Hill:**

_Foxtrot is down. Assassination attempt occurred at Stars & Stripes’ apartment. Need you at GWU Hospital immediately. _

She could feel the blood rushing to her head as she stared uncomprehendingly down at the phone.

No, it couldn’t be…

“Share-Bear?” Trip’s voice felt far away as she blinked and stared up at her cousins, who were all looking at her in concern. She jumped up from the table, knocking her chair over as she backed away. Everything was moving in slow motion as she tried to make sense of everything in her head.

“I…I have to go,” she muttered as she began moving towards the railing of Trip’s deck. He lunged for her but she evaded him and propelled herself over the railing and down to the ground below.

“Sharon!”

She landed in the grass, rolling to her feet, and stumbled a few feet forward, shaking her head and forcing clarity into her thoughts.

She’d be no good to Fury if she didn’t get some control over herself.

She sprinted towards her car, slipped in, and sped towards GWU Hospital. She didn’t know how long it took to get there, and she was positive she had run more than her fair share of red lights when the hospital came into view.

It was crawling with SHIELD agents.

She parked her stingray right at the hospital entrance, in between police cars and armored SHIELD SUVs.

She raced into the hospital, passing various police officers and STRIKE members. She didn’t give a second glance to Rumlow or Jasper Sitwell as she sped past them in the hallway. She saw Maria Hill loitering at the end of the hallway, barking orders into her cell phone. She hung up and turned, catching sight of Sharon.

“There you are,” she sighed in relief as Sharon’s steps pounded over the linoleum floor.

“Where is he?” she demanded. Hill nodded to the door on her right and Sharon wasted no time, pushing herself into the observation room.

Rogers stood at the glass that divided the two from Fury and the surgeons operating on him. Sharon froze in the doorway, taking in the sight of Fury on the table. His body was completely battered and from her angle, she could see a purple bruise taking up his entire right cheek. Injuries far worse than what a shooting would inflict.

He laid there, completely unconscious as surgeons swarmed around him. Tubes and wiring were attached and coming out of him in every direction.

He looked nothing like the strong and stoic man that had been a pillar of Sharon’s childhood. The man who had always come to dinner in his black trench coat, but who always had a tootsie roll in his pocket that she always received with her little, grubby hands. The man who had once read the fairytale of Cinderella to her in his no-nonsense voice as he scoffed at the princess’ less than intelligent decisions.

That man was laying there, looking far closer to death than she had ever wanted to see.

She forced herself to move towards the glass, faintly hearing the surgeons speaking to one another as she came up to Rogers’ side. She glanced quickly at him and noticed in relief that he didn’t look any worse for wear.

“Is he-” her voice cracked as she fought for composure in the silence and darkness of their room. “Is he going to make it?”

Rogers sighed and leaned forward, propping himself up against the glass as he watched the operation.

“I don’t know,” he gravely admitted and Sharon’s heart plunged. In the two years she had worked with Rogers, even when missions had gone completely FUBAR, he never lost confidence and showed anything less than fierce determination, as if he could bend the universe to his will by force alone.

He didn’t sound confident now.

She kicked her brain into high gear and forced herself to behave analytically. She needed to know everything that had happened, so she could fix this mess and have Fury go back to bitching at her as he usually did.

“Tell me about the shooter,” she instructed as Rogers continued staring at Fury, recalling what had happened.

“He was fast and strong. He had a metal arm.”

Chills swept up Sharon’s arms and suddenly she was sitting in a storage closet in the Triskelion, playing poker and listening as Natasha recounted her sole encounter with the so-called Winter Soldier in Iran.

He too had a metal arm.

He was the thing nightmares were made of.

She didn’t even blink as Hill entered the room, moving to stand beside Sharon. In her periphery she noticed Sitwell and Rumlow standing at a distance, but taking in the scene as well. There was only one way to confirm her current and troubling line of thinking.

“Ballistics?” Sharon asked Maria.

“Three slugs. No rifling and completely untraceable.”

If Maria remembered at all that these were the same ballistics Natasha had named off from her incident, she gave no sign of it as she reported the news to the pair of blondes. Sharon closed her eyes and exhaled. It was just as Natasha had said.

“Soviet-made?” she guessed hollowly, already knowing the answer. She felt Maria’s unreadable stare at the side of her head.

“Yes.”

Beeping across the glass deterred Hill’s questioning as the surgeons sprang into action around Fury.

“He’s dropping!” one yelled panicked as Sharon stood straight and stared at the scene in horrific fascination. She couldn’t look away even if she tried.

“Crash cart coming in,” a nurse bellowed. The surgeons surrounded Fury, pushing aside tubing and wiring as they prepped him for charges.

“Nurse, help me with the gauzes, please. BP is dropping. Defibrillator!”

They strapped him down and all stood back as one doctor prepared him.

“Charge to one hundred,” the doctor ordered.

“Don’t do this, Nick. Not like this,” Sharon whispered, feeling the sting of tears in the corner of her eyes. She clutched onto the railing of the wall until the skin around her knuckles turned white.

“Stand back! Three, two, one, clear!”

Fury’s body arched up sickeningly before slamming back down to the table. Sharon flinched at the sound.

“Pulse?” a doctor asked when the body stopped jerking.

“No pulse,” a nurse confirmed.

“Okay. Charge to two hundred, please. Stand back! Three, two, one. Clear!”

It occurred again and Sharon felt like throwing up, watching Fury’s body flail as it did. Why wasn’t it working?

“Give me epinephrine! Pulse?”

“Negative.”

“Please, Nick,” Sharon quietly sobbed out. “Don’t do this!”

Rogers turned towards her, his blue eyes looking at her unwaveringly for a long moment before he looked back to Fury. His hand reached out, and just for a moment, his fingers skimmed over her hand, his touch burning her skin. A silent offer of comfort before he pulled away.

All Sharon could hear was the flat-lining of Fury’s monitor as the doctors continued attempting to revive the SHIELD director. Eventually. though, it was clear that there was nothing that could be done.

Sharon watched numbly as the doctors and nurses began standing back and shutting down machines meant to keep him alive.

“What’s the time?” a doctor asked.

“1:03, Doctor.” A nurse responded and Sharon’s heart fell to the pit of her stomach as she crumbled forward.

“Time of death: 1:03am.”

He was gone.

She absentmindedly noticed Sitwell, Rumlow and even Hill leaving the room. But she didn’t care.

Nick Fury was gone.

 

* * *

 

 

Sharon opened her eyes, hoping this was all just a horrible dream.

Yet here she stood, looking down at Fury’s cold and lifeless body. Hours had passed since he had first been declared dead, but this was the first chance she had had to see him up close since…since he had left.

She had never known a SHIELD without Fury there, captaining the ship, steering it in the (ambiguously) right direction.

He laid there motionless, his eyes closed and his body unmoving. Flashes of memories involving the man filtered through her mind. Him at her high school graduation, him buying her first Glock, the two getting brunch after her very first SHIELD mission.

Fury had always been there for her, always in her life. How was she supposed to move forward without him?

She felt more than noticed Rogers behind her. He had taken up his perch against the wall hours ago and hadn’t moved from it.

The two hadn’t spoken, but words weren’t needed in a time like this.

She couldn’t help but feel as if everything was… _wrong._

Who would want Fury dead? Okay, silly question. A lot of people would want Fury dead. But who had access to the Winter Soldier, the biggest, baddest assassin, to make that happen? And why the hell had Fury been in Rogers’ apartment? As far as she knew he had never visited it before. Why did he last night?

Sharon was thrown from her thoughts as Maria entered the room and cleared her throat.

“We need to take him,” she said to the pair as Sharon blinked, but remained standing before Fury’s body. She heard Rogers sigh as he came up from behind.

“Thirteen,” he said softly and Sharon wanted to laugh at the hypocrisy. Who knew that all it took for Rogers to be kind to her was for her to lose Fury? The world was truly a cruel place. She reached up and cupped Fury’s cheek, feeling how cold and unyielding his body was.

 _I promise,_ she vowed silently, _I’ll find who did this to you and I’ll make them pay._

Her hand slipped away from him as she turned and without a glance towards Rogers or Hill, left the room and Fury behind. She was marching down the hallway when she heard the familiar tread of Rogers behind her.

“Thirteen!” he called, grasping her arm and easily turning her to face him. Feeling a thousand different emotions at once and needing to get to the bottom of what had happened, she was not in the mood to verbally spar with Rogers as they so often did.

She shook out of his grasp and looked intently at the Avenger.

“Why was Fury in your apartment?”

Rogers' face went through a flurry of emotions before settling on false neutrality as he sighed and shook his head, placing his hands on his hips. He looked positively befuddled by Fury's presence in his apartment.

“I don’t know,” he hollowly defended with bent head, avoiding her steely gaze. He was such a terrible liar that it was laughable. She opened her mouth to retort when Rumlow interrupted the two.

“Captain," the STRIKE commander addressed briskly. "They want you back at SHIELD.”

Steve looked at the man and nodded.

“Yeah, give me a second.”

“They want you now,” Rumlow persisted as Rogers raised an eyebrow at his surprisingly sharp tone.

“Okay.”

Rumlow nodded, spared a glance towards Sharon before walking away, calling orders to his team. Rogers turned back to the blonde as she glared at him. She stepped up towards him, jabbing a finger into his chest and said lowly,

“Don’t think I don’t know a lie when I hear one, _Captain_. I’m going to get to the bottom of this, that I promise you.”

She pivoted on her heel and stalked away.

She was a woman on a mission.

And she needed answers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the previous reviews! It is such a delight to receive them and I am so happy that you all are enjoying the story so far. I was going to wait another day or two to post, but your guys' receptiveness to the story has made me too excited, so here I am again. 
> 
> Man, Sharon is just being put through the ringer, isn't she? I wish I could say things get better, but you know what they say, sometimes things have to get worse before they get better. 
> 
> Pic time!
> 
> Sharon at the Trisk:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/24829579197/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Sharon at the hospital:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/25822569548/in/dateposted-public/)


	3. If He's a Ghost, Then I Can Be a Phantom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m coming with you.”
> 
> “Like hell you are.” Rogers scowled at her, which was oddly endearing seeing as how insanely silly he looked in the navy tracksuit.
> 
> “You can’t do this alone, Rogers." Sharon protested with a frown, "You have no idea what you’re up against. You need me.” 
> 
> “You’re the last thing I need,” he spat at her as he stalked around the observational room like a caged animal, frenetic energy confined to a tight space as he tried to reign himself in.

**_April 2 nd, 2014_ **

**_SHIELD Archives, Beneath the Library of Congress_ **

****

A hidden DC secret was that an entire underground complex existed beneath the Library of Congress, and in it was housed the SHIELD Archives. One may think it odd to have the history of SHIELD - both in paper and computer form -  not at the Triskelion, the epicenter of SHIELD. It had been a strategic move on Director Carter’s part back in the ‘90s. If - God forbid - the Triskelion was ever compromised or taken, at least SHIELD’s secrets would be safe.

Buried a mile beneath the greatest, modern library in the world, the SHIELD Archives were a hive of information. Shelf after shelf was packed with files and folders all detailing mission reports, threat analyses, agent summaries, etc. No congressmen had ever stepped foot in the Archives and not even the President was aware of its existence.

It was for SHIELD agents only, Level 4 and above.

It was in the SHIELD Archives that Sharon had barricaded herself in since hastily departing GWU Hospital at half past six in the morning. The bright sunlight had immediately blinded her when she had hastily exited the hospital and she had wasted no time in gunning her stingray out of there and heading towards the Archives.

If she was ever going to have even a modicum of a chance of learning what had happened to Fury and why, it would be here.

She was the only one there besides a beleaguered archivist, who was watching the Today Show on her tablet and paying no attention to the emotionally compromised, blonde spy. It only made Sharon’s self-proclaimed mission easier as she barged up to the computer.

The screen came to life as Sharon addressed the screen directly.

“Agent Sharon Carter, 3196675.”

She felt a tingle at the base of her spine as the computer scanned and verified her.

_“Confirmed. Carter, S. What would you like to see?”_

Sharon's gaze was fiercely determined as she commanded evenly, “Show me everything on the Winter Soldier.”

_“Confirmed. Searching ‘Winter Soldier.’”_

Sharon watched as file after file appeared on the screen. She hit the print button and watched as the list churned out of the computer and she immediately went into the stacks, pulling out every physical copy she could find.

Soon she had a fortress of crates built at one of the research tables, box after box stacked up around her and even surrounding her on the floor. In total, she had more than twenty boxes heaped precariously around her. Feeling a migraine settling between her eyebrows, she pinched the bridge of her nose, threw off her jacket carelessly to the side and got to work.

In the eerie silence and the dark shadows of the cavernous Archives, Sharon poured over every file that so much as even alluded to the infamous and deadly Winter Soldier. She read until her eyes burned and kept going regardless, her stomach gurgled with hunger pains and her body ached with the absence of sleep, but still, she read on.

There wasn’t much.

He was, as Nat once derisively claimed, a ghost. And looking into his history was as fruitful as chasing shadows. He remained frustratingly out of reach.

All there was were rumors and hearsay. No clear pictures of him existed, just reports of a flash of a metal arm with a red star marking it. If he was real he had killed more than his fair share of people in the last fifty years: head of states, scientists, politicians, activists, and more.

No one knew who he worked for and how he could go on a killing spree for more than half a century without ever being caught or even properly glimpsed.

Sharon was on her 12th box when her phone spasmodically vibrated on the table next to her. The blonde jumped up, startled by the loud reverberations after spending several hours in silence, the only sound beside the flipping of pages and her quiet breaths. Banging her knees into the table, she colorfully cursed before agitatedly reaching for the phone to see who was calling her.

**Natasha Romanoff**

Sharon paused at the sight of her friend's name. She knew why Natasha was calling her. By now everyone at SHIELD would have known what had happened to Fury, and Natasha was intuitive enough to read between the lines and deduce that Rogers was somehow involved.

Sharon contemplated answering, she knew how fond Natasha had been of Fury. But she couldn’t. Even as the guilt gnawed at her, she flipped the phone over and watched as the vibrations ceased and the phone went blissfully silent. Less than a minute later it began vibrating again and Sharon bit her tongue as she once again ignored the redheaded assassin.

The phone rang two more times before pinging in with endless text messages.

Sharon ignored the texts for an entire folder of useless information that amounted to nothing before giving in and sliding her phone screen to display them.

**From Natasha Romanoff:**

_Pick up the phone._

_I know you’re there._

_Tell me what’s going on. Something’s not right._

_Why was Fury at Rogers’ apartment?_

_God dammit, Carter, answer your phone!_

Sharon’s heart curled in on itself as she stared listlessly at the texts. Impersonal as they were she could hear everything Natasha wasn’t saying, and it broke her heart. Natasha had to be hurting just as much as Sharon, but unfortunately for the redhead, she was half a world away and completely blocked out from everything occurring in DC.

She heaved in a deep breath while massaging her forehead, the headache had yet to abate even though she had dry swallowed aspirin an hour ago. She was getting nowhere with the research. The Winter Soldier was as intangible and out of reach as ever.

The only one who had ever seen him was Natasha…

Swallowing her pride, Sharon reached for the phone and dialed in the number she had memorized.

 _“About fucking time you answer your phone, Carter,”_ Natasha’s voice growled in Sharon’s ear as the blonde stared wearily ahead, her grip tight on the cellphone.

_“Where the hell have you been? Fury dies, the Triskelion has been on complete radio silence, Rogers won’t talk to me and you just disappear-"_

“What do you know about the Winter Soldier?” Sharon cut in briskly as she was met with a heavy silence on the other end, only Nat’s breathing telling her that the assassin was still there.

 _“Why?”_ Nat’s voice was level and just leaning towards cold. Sharon knew her mind was whirling with thoughts.

“Nat, what do you know?” Sharon pressed harder, a sliver of emotion creeping into her voice as her grip tightened and her knuckles turned white.

 _“You know what I know,”_ the redhead volleyed back. _“Why do you want to know?”_

“Because,” Sharon’s voice shook before she forced it under control. “I think he killed Fury.”

The stillness that followed her words chilled her to the bone as she waited for a response from Natasha.

“Nat?” she questioned when the silence had stretched on for too long.

 _“Why would the Winter Soldier kill Fury?”_ was the throaty response as Sharon hollowly chuckled, bitterness seeping into her words.

“I don’t know. But Rogers’ saw him, saw his metal arm. And the ballistics match up to the same ones you found in Iran. He did it, Nat." Sharon breathed out. "I need to know why.”

_“Well, I can’t help you with that.”_

Sharon closed her eyes and leaned into the desk, her shoulders hunched and defeated all at the same time. Everything was so out of whack. The world had stopped making sense the moment Fury's heart stopped beating. She just wanted order and stability but everything around her was quickly spiraling into chaos.

“Well, is there anything you can help me with?” Sharon bit back an impatient scowl, angry at the circumstances she now found herself unwittingly in.

 _“Yeah, I can give you some advice,"_ Natasha cautioned soberly. " _Stay out of this, Carter.”_

She shouldn’t have expected anything other than this. Natasha was the most pragmatic person she had ever met, but still, she felt her stomach give way at her friend’s harsh, realistic words.

“I can’t do that, Nat,” Sharon whispered, her voice sounding foreign to her own ears. Everything was pressing in on her and all she wanted was a moment to breathe.

_“If the Winter Soldier truly did kill Fury, that means there’s something bigger at play. If you get in his way, he won’t hesitate to take you out.”_

Sharon felt a chill sweep up her spine, but she refused to let a ghost get to her. “Well, I guess that’s just the risk I’m going to take.”

_“Sharon-"_

“Goodbye, Nat.”

Sharon hung up the phone and sank back into her chair. She agitatedly shoved the closest box to her away and watched with grim satisfaction as it fell to the floor with a thud, files scattered senselessly.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, internally fuming when her phone once again pinged with an incoming text message. Sharon tiredly sighed and opened her phone, fully expecting some words of wisdom from Nat.

That’s not what she received.

Instead, there was a video attachment from Agent 29, no text.

She downloaded the video and raised an eyebrow as she immediately recognized it to be a grainy, security footage of one of many of SHIELD’s elevators. There was no audio, but she didn’t need it to understand the moving images before her.

Captain America was taking out an entire outfit of STRIKE members, including Rumlow and Rollins.

“What the hell,” Sharon murmured riveted as she watched the attack. STRIKE were the aggressors, attempting to entrap the Avenger with magnetic handcuffs in the enclosed space of the elevator. Freeing himself, Rogers made quick work of the STRIKE team until all that was left was Rumlow. The STRIKE Commander got in a few quick jabs with a stun baton before Rogers threw him into the roof of the elevator. She watched transfixed as Rogers realized the only way out was through the glass. She stared as he dove out of the elevator, crash landing in the atrium below before racing off, presumably to the garage.

The screen cut to black and Sharon gaped uncomprehendingly at it for several long moments, dread rapidly growing within her.

What the hell was going on?

Why on earth was STRIKE attacking Captain America in the Triskelion itself?

Something was very, very wrong.

Natasha’s words came back to her.

_That means there’s something bigger at play._

Indeed. Natasha was right, as always.

Sharon stood quickly, knocking her chair back as she hightailed it out of the Archives, ignoring the squawk from the archivist about the mess she had left behind. She hurried to the elevator and stalked the space impatiently as it brought her up to the ground floor. She had only exited the Library of Congress when her phone went off with a new text message. She checked it and her heart plummeted.

**From SHIELD:**

_Level One. Captain Rogers is a wanted fugitive. Presence demanded at the Triskelion immediately._

This was not good. This was very much not good.

Sharon felt sick as she leaned against her stingray, the April sun doing nothing to warm her chilled skin. Her mind was whirling a thousand miles a minute as she forced herself to think logically.

SHIELD wanted Rogers. The Winter Soldier had killed Fury.

She knew, somehow, that these two events were intrinsically connected. Events had happened too quickly in correlation for it not to be related.

But why? What was the link?

She replayed the last 48 hours for anything out of the ordinary. It all seemed routine on the surface, Fury had called her in, given her and Rogers a new mission…

The _Lemurian Star._

Her eyes widened as it suddenly made sense. The flash drive!

Yes, Fury had desired the flash drive enough to lie to Rogers. There was something important on the flash drive, something Fury wanted.

But why had Fury been at Rogers’ apartment last night? Why go there? Unless the shooting hadn’t been the Winter Soldier’s first attempt on the director’s life.

Sharon vividly remembered the bruising on Fury’s face in the hospital. He wouldn’t have gotten it from the shooting alone. The Winter Soldier must have tried to assassinate Fury earlier and had failed, tailing him to Rogers’ apartment.

So, whatever was on the flash drive was vital enough for someone to have Fury killed. Fury would have known this and would have left it with someone he trusted…someone like Rogers. He hadn’t passed it onto Hill in New York or to Secretary Pierce here in DC, which meant…he hadn’t trusted SHIELD. Sharon’s gut dropped at the thought of Fury not trusting SHIELD.

She remembered the way Rogers had lied to her only this morning about why Fury had been in his apartment. He must have given the flash drive to Rogers. Which meant Rogers had it.

Sharon shook her head. No, no he wouldn’t have it on his person anymore. Rogers was smart enough to know to be wary of SHIELD after Fury’s death. He wouldn’t have gone into the Triskelion with it on his person. Where would he have left it then? His apartment? Unlikely, the Dupont Circle apartment was a bonafide crime scene now, crawling with SHIELD agents.

Which only left…

The hospital.

Sharon gasped as she frantically threw opened her car door and began racing towards GWU Hospital. She had limited time if she was going to find the flash drive before Rogers. Time passed in an instance as she hastily parked at the hospital and strode inside, not drawing any unwanted attention to herself. She could easily be visiting a loved one with how easy she blended in.

It was a far cry from how it had appeared the night before. Gone was the hustle and bustle of SHIELD agents and police officers. Now just doctors and nurses roamed the hallways, going about their business as if their peaceful, orderly world hadn’t changed the same way Sharon’s had. She retraced her footsteps all across the hospital, keeping her eyes open for every hidden nook and cranny. She paused - her heart heavy - before pushing into the observation room she had stood in only hours before, where she had watched Fury die.

Her eyes were immediately drawn to the operating room across the glass. It was empty and dark, giving no sign that hours ago nurses and surgeons had been huddled in there trying to save Nick Fury’s life. She could still faintly hear the echo of the flat line as Nick slipped away.

She shook her head to dislodge those grim thoughts as she began combing through the room, seeing if Rogers had stashed the flash drive anywhere when he had been in here alone.

She came up decidedly empty.

Finding nothing in the room, she stomped out of it, marching ahead and pausing in front on a vending machine as she placed her hands on her hips and surveyed the hallway critically.

Where could he have stashed it?

She glanced past the vending machine when a flash of silver caught her eye. She turned back to the machine and focused intently for a moment before finally seeing it.

Hidden behind two packs of bright, pink bubblegum was the flash drive.

Sharon laughed incredulously as she stepped closer, her reflection watching her in the glass.

“Clever, Rogers,” she whispered approvingly as she forked up the correct amount of change from her pocket. Several minutes later she was in possession of two packs of gum and the flash drive.

She held it tightly in her hand as her eyes swiveled down the hall. If the flash drive was here, Rogers was sure to be on his way. Noticing an unused observation room behind her, she slunk into it and kept watch on the hallway, waiting for a certain super-soldier to make his grand appearance.

She didn’t have to wait long.

A massive figure cloaked in a tracksuit and ridiculous sneakers nonchalantly meandered down the hallway, hands tucked in pockets and his face hidden underneath his hood.

It was like he wasn’t even trying.

The figure came to a stop in front of the vending machine and tensed when he found it empty of his prize.

Showtime.

Sharon soundlessly appeared at his shoulder as he noticed her reflection in the glass and turned to her with unreadable eyes and clenched jaw.

“Fancy running into you here,” she said with an air of cheer. It clearly wasn’t her best move when Rogers surreptitiously glanced around, and finding the hallway relatively empty, took hold of her arms and shoved her roughly back into the observation room. She hit the glass wall with a faint thud as Rogers bracketed her in between his strong arms and crowded into her space.

“Where is it?” he impatiently demanded, eyes narrowed with a hard glint to them. Sharon raised an eyebrow innocently.

“Where’s what?”

Rogers shoved her back again and she bit her lip to hide her grimace. She still had bruises from the _Lemurian Star_ and this shoving business wasn’t doing her back any favors. Not her smartest move to antagonize a super soldier.

Her face contorted when he slammed one of his hands against the glass, only inches away from her head. The glass groaned underneath the weight of the blow. Rogers leaned in, eyes slanted and nostrils flaring with barely repressed anger.

“Try again!”

She took a different route as she stared up at him. She reached for the flash drive and held it up for him to see. “Where did you get it?”

Rogers mirthlessly chuckled as he leveled a glare down at her. “Why would I tell you?”

The comment stung. Clearly, they were back at square one when it came to their working relationship. He didn’t trust her and therefore had no time for her. She continued looking at him as she surmised correctly, “Fury gave it to you. Why?”

“What’s on it?” the Avenger countered back easily as Sharon shrugged and answered honestly.

“I don’t know.”

“Stop lying!” the soldier commanded his grip tightening on her arms.

“I’m not omnipresent, Rogers,” Sharon objected. “I have no idea what’s on the drive. I promise.”

Rogers watched her for several moments and when he couldn’t detect any dishonesty on her face, his grip lessened slightly as he took a step back and surveyed her.

“Well, I’ll bet you knew Fury hired the pirates, didn’t you?”

She hadn’t. But it wasn’t a shock to the system to hear. It was a very Fury thing to do.

“It makes sense when you think about it,” she said after a moment. “The ship was dirty. Fury needed a way in, so do you.”

“I don’t have time for the riddles, Thirteen. I’m going to ask you one more time-"

“I know who killed Fury.”

Silence filled the room as Rogers stared uncomprehendingly at her. She forced away the sensation to fidget underneath his commanding gaze and held her ground as she raised her chin and pleaded her case.  

“Look, this is going to sound crazy, and most of the intelligence community doesn’t believe he exists, but the ones who do call him the Winter Soldier.”

She paused for a moment to see if Rogers’ recognized the name. His blue eyes stayed blank as she sighed, ran a hand through her hair, and continued. “He’s credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last _fifty_ years.”

Rogers was visibly unimpressed. “So he’s a ghost story.”

Sharon weakly chuckled as she leaned against the glass, her head lulling listlessly.

“I’ve never encountered him personally, but that’s not to say other SHIELD agents haven’t. He went after Natasha a few years ago in Iran when she was escorting a nuclear engineer to safety. He ended up shooting her to get to the target. It was a Soviet slug, no rifling. Same as the one that got Fury. And legend has it that he has a metal arm, just as you described.”

She drew in a breath and looked down. “I’ve spent all of today in the Archives researching the Winter Soldier. It’s all dead ends. Like you said, he’s a ghost story.”

“Well,” Rogers responded as he reached for the flash drive and pocketed it. “I’m going to see what the ghost wants.”

Sharon perked up as she pushed herself off of the wall. “I’m coming with you.”

“Like hell you are.” Rogers scowled at her, which was oddly endearing seeing as how insanely silly he looked in the navy tracksuit.

“You can’t do this alone, Rogers," Sharon protested with a frown. "You have no idea what you’re up against. You need me.”

“You’re the last thing I need,” he spat at her as he stalked around the observational room like a caged animal, frenetic energy confined to a tight space as he tried to reign himself in.

“The last thing Fury told me was not to trust anyone and here you are, ready to go and help me. How do I know this isn’t just SHIELD playing me like they have all along?”

Sharon blinked. She could understand Rogers’ hesitancy. She still didn’t know how SHIELD played into everything that had occurred, but the intelligence agency was involved somehow, as hard as it was to swallow.

“You can trust me,” she replied and watched as Rogers’ face shuttered and only bitterness remained as he placed his hands on his hips.

“I bet you knew about the bugs in my apartment, didn’t you?”

Sharon froze, her eyes darting away guiltily as Rogers continued on bitingly.

“And the fact that my neighbor, _Kate_ ," he spat the name out venomously. "Is actually an undercover SHIELD agent.”

Now Sharon was staring down at her feet like a toddler caught with their hand in the cookie jar. All of SHIELD's duplicity was piling up and she was the sacrificial lamb to Rogers' fury.

“Agent 29,” she softly supplied as Rogers snorted, though it was clear he found nothing amusing about their current situation.

“Great." His eyes were hard as flint as he glared at her. "Another nameless SHIELD agent in my life lying to me. Is there anything else I’m missing, Thirteen?”

Sharon flinched as she debated the merits of telling him the truth, or at least, nearly all of the truth. It wasn’t like she had anything to lose at this point, he already vividly hated her very existence. She glanced up at the Avenger and filled him in on the remaining blanks.

“I used to receive summaries of your appointments with Dr. Abbot, alongside Fury and Natasha.”

Rogers was still for a moment before he barked out a harsh laugh as it echoed hollowly in the dim operation room.

“I guess doctor-patient confidentiality means nothing at SHIELD.”

Sharon looked away remorsefully as she wrung her hands together nervously, a tick she had never gotten over, spy training be damned.

“I only received a few before I ordered Fury to stop sending them to me. I didn’t want to invade your privacy like that,” she tried to explain, even as she knew that it would do no good in Rogers's eyes. His anger was too righteous for half excuses and self-pity.

“How noble of you.” The words cut like ice.

Sharon blew out a frustrated breath as she tried to make him understand, “I was just doing-"

“Your job?" he taunted. "How do I know you’re not just playing me right now, huh?" He nodded to the hallway. "And the second we walk out of here I’ll be swarmed by STRIKE.”

“Because they killed Fury.” Her words trembled in the quiet, massive space between the two partners. “I don’t know how or who did it, but SHIELD is involved somehow." She looked the super-soldier straight in the eye. "And I won’t stop until I know why and make them pay. This is personal for me, Rogers."

She held his gaze as she continued imploringly. "So don’t trust me, you’re right, I’ve been keeping things from you since the moment we met. But trust that I’ll do anything to bring Fury's killer to light.”

Rogers gazed at her for several long moments and she felt stripped bare underneath his probing scrutiny. But he must have seen something in her because his stance lessened only an inch and he gave a single, jerking nod of his head.

“Fine. You can come." He took a stern step forward as he pointed at her. "But if for one second, I think you’ll double cross me, I won’t hesitate to take you out.”

Sharon nodded in return, relief coursing through her. “Understood.”

Rogers’ rigid shoulders loosened and lowered as he pocketed both his hands in his tracksuit and gestured towards the door.

“Well, let’s go see what the ghost wants.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Sharon's first appearance in the comics is Tales of Suspense #75 which debuted in March of 1966. Knowing that I made Sharon's SHIELD ID 3196675 (March 1966 #75).
> 
> And the tension rises between Blonde Squared. (Literally, this is what I plan on calling them from here out.) Hopefully they'll overcome it. 
> 
> Thank you for all the previous reviews! They absolutely, 100% make my day with every new one that comes into my inbox. You guys are the best. Please, please, please keep it up! 
> 
> No pics this time.


	4. Say My Name, Say My Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t freak out.” she warned as he raised an eyebrow questioningly.
> 
> “Why would I freak out?” His voice was wary, with good reason. Sharon gulped, glanced back and saw Rumlow growing ever closer. She whirled back to Rogers and sucked up her pride and nerves.
> 
> “Because we need to make out.”

**_April 2 nd, 2014_ **

**_Washington, D.C._ **

****

“Where’d you get the shoes?” Sharon asked enthralled as she stared down at Rogers’ Supra high top sneakers. They were completely outrageous with their turquoise accents. Rogers must have been truly desperate to choose shoes that only 19-year-old skater boys would be caught in.

Rogers sighed and shuffled his feet self-consciously as he regarded her warily from his spot in the passenger seat of her Stingray.

“I had to ditch my stealth suit due to the trackers sewn into it. I hid in a community center and swabbed out my suit for the contents of a duffle bag, which left me with this.”

He gestured to himself in all his baggy tracksuit and colorful sneakers wearing glory. Sharon couldn’t help but grin as she took it all in. Rogers had made vast improvements when it came to his choice of clothing, but this was just too much. She was almost tempted to secretly snap a picture for prosperity.

She pulled up to a stop sign and scrutinized Rogers as a thought came to her head.

“Speaking of trackers, where’s your SHIELD cell phone?”

Rogers’ frowned as he crossed his arms over his chest sullenly.

“I ditched it with the suit when I noticed the trackers. I also found a microscopic tracker on my shield. Thanks for that.” His sarcasm was potent as Sharon rolled her eyes and turned exasperatedly towards the super soldier.

“Your entire apartment was bugged and you’re going to get on me about the shield? Besides, the reason for tracking your shield was actually pretty benign.”

Rogers stared at her unconvinced as she huffed and pleaded her case. “What? With the reckless abandonment you throw that frisbee around with, we thought you might lose it. The tracker was to expedite the process of finding it.”

She pulled out her SHIELD phone and pulled a bobby pin from her hair as she shimmied the back of the phone open and started digging around through the wiring as Rogers watched with a raised eyebrow.

“What are you doing?”

Sharon hummed as she explained without raising her eyes to look at the man beside her.

“All SHIELD cell phones are embedded with a small tracking device in case we ever go off the grid unexpectedly. And seeing as every agent on the eastern seaboard has been recalled to the Triskelion to hunt you down, it’s only a matter of time when they realize I am not among them. Better to be rid of the tracker before they figure it out. Aha!”

She crowed triumphantly as she pulled out the tiny and innocuous tracking device and held it up in the sunlight for inspection. Rogers didn’t seem to share her enthusiasm as he regarded her.

“So everyone’s after us?”

Sharon glanced up at him and shrugged, going for nonchalance as she replied.

“It’s not dire straits, _yet_. Luckily for us, both Romanoff and Barton are in deep cover missions outside the US. It definitely makes things easier knowing they won’t pop up suddenly trying to kill us.”

Rogers quirked an eyebrow in disbelief at the notion that their friends, two of his Avenger teammates, would try and take them out.

“You’d think they do that? Blindly follow orders without asking any questions?”

Sharon sighed and turned fully towards Rogers, glad that they were on an empty street as she took him in fully: tracksuit, weird sneakers, and all.

Rogers was…something else. He wasn’t like them. He didn’t understand the way the world, SHIELD, and espionage worked. He’d break rules, make sacrifices and save the un-saveable, but he was the exception, not the norm.

He truly was a man out of time.

“Fury’s dead unexpectedly, you’ve gone rogue, and SHIELD is tail spinning in the wake; what I think they’d want is security, and if it comes at a price, I wouldn’t want to be standing on the other side of their guns.” 

Rogers had nothing to say to that and when the silence became heavy, Sharon turned away, crushing the tracking device, permanently taking her off of SHIELD’s grid. She tossed aside the phone before pulling out her personal iPhone.

She stared down at the screen for a moment, contemplating before heading to the call screen and typing in a number that had been given to her only for the direst of situations. She fired off a simple text, but it said so much more than expected on the surface. Once sent she pulled off the back of it, slipped out the sim card, and chucked the phone out the window. It landed in the street, screen shattering beyond repair. Sharon sighed regretfully, she had only bought it a few months ago.

She gave herself a moment to breathe before glancing up and down the street. Seeing nothing, she put her stingray back into drive and continued onward.

Rogers’ glanced at her before looking out the window.

“So,” he asked as Sharon gave him her attention. “What are we working with?”

“SHIELD’s placed you at a Level One. They’ll be going all out. My guess is that the Department of Transportation has already been contacted. All traffic lights in the District will have gone red. The runways at BWI, IAD, and Reagan will be shut down. They’ll be monitoring all of the city’s security cameras. If they’re really paranoid, they’ll use all open sources: phones, PDAs, tablets, etc. Even social media like Twitter will be fair game.”

Rogers let the information sink in, his mind moving a mile per second as he assessed the situation and tried to determine their next move. It was like a chess game occurring entirely inside his own head. It was thrilling to watch, Sharon was willing to admit.

“The best thing to do,” the super-soldier began. “Would be to go to ground.”

Sharon laughed as he looked at her questioningly, not used to having his plans be so openly shot down.

“Oh, Rogers," Sharon shook her head. "Going to ground is the last thing we’re going to do.”

He may be a tactical genius, but he didn’t know how to play the spy game. Where would he be without her? Dead, she was sure of it.

“Then what are we doing?” he asked skeptically, his eyebrow nearly in his hairline.

Sharon smirked gleefully. “We’re going shopping.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I look ridiculous.”

Sharon couldn’t help but snort as she glimpsed at Rogers’ new getup. Gone was the tracksuit; replaced by tight, dark wash jeans, a graphic t-shirt, hidden under a navy hoodie and a dark utility jacket. His blonde hair was concealed by a nondescript baseball cap. His blue eyes were not as vivid with a thick pair of hipster glasses in front of them. He also still had those silly turquoise sneakers from before.

Sharon had to admit, shopping for him had been a true joy. She had ditched her clothes as well and her normally wavy hair had been straightened so it was sleek and shiny. Atop her head was a black snapback on backward. She wore a loose-fitting grey shirt, with a plunging scoop neck that showed hints of the lacy, ebony bralette beneath. Over the shirt was an unzipped, olive green bomber jacket. She had on skinny jeans with fashionable rips at the knees. On her feet, she was wearing trendy, black wedge sneakers.

The two now looked like a pair of millennials who had wandered out of the nearest Forever 21.

The good thing, however, was the fact that they no longer looked like themselves, especially Rogers. He would not normally be caught in such formfitting denim.

“Trust me, Rogers, we’ll blend right in.”

Rogers scoffed as he moved uncomfortably in his sneakers, them squishing with every step he took.

“I don’t see how,” he muttered darkly to himself. “There’s nothing covert about _this._ ”

He gestured to himself in baffled fashion as Sharon rolled her amber eyes.

“Sometimes being overt is really just a way of being covert,” she explained as she dodged a pair of gossiping teenagers.

“That didn’t make any sense,” he retorted as she came up to his side. She resisted the urge to punch him in the shoulder.

Couldn’t he go with her plan just once without criticizing it? Talk about control issues.

“Just go with it,” she hissed at him as she surveyed the scene in front of her.

Pentagon City.

The busiest, craziest mall in all of the DMV. It was three floors of stores, food courts, and absolute mayhem. People were everywhere. Rambunctious toddlers who really should be on a leash, loud teenagers with their Starbucks and Uggs, suburban moms gossiping with their strollers nearby, retired old folks who were trying to get in some exercise by doing laps in the mall.

It was perfect.

So many people moving this way and that would allow Sharon and Rogers to move unnoticed and unseen throughout the mall.

“I don’t even know why we’re here,” Rogers complained as they hopped onto the escalator heading up to the third floor where the Apple Store resided. Sharon sighed as she looked over her shoulder towards the Avenger, who was standing two steps below hers.

“I told you, the flash drive has a level six homing program on it. The second we plug it into a computer, SHIELD’s going to know where we are.”

“So we’re putting peoples’ lives at risks,” Rogers flatly stated as Sharon huffed. Did he really always think the worse of her? He had even less patience for her than normal. But, she imagined the surprise ambush from STRIKE had the blond on edge.

“No, we’re ensuring SHIELD doesn’t come in guns blazing. But if you’d rather do this in an abandoned warehouse and have STRIKE come in with their guns, grenades, and air support on top of that, then let’s do it your way.”

Rogers remained stoically silent, avoiding her narrowed gaze.

“That’s what I thought,” she whispered to himself, knowing full well he could hear her, as they made it to the top of the escalator. She stepped off and headed towards the Apple Store, Rogers nipping at her heels. They slipped into the chromatic space and set up shop at an open laptop.

“How much time do we have?” Rogers questioned as she pulled the flash drive out of her pocket.

“About nine minutes from…” she plugged it in as the home screen transformed. “Now.”

Rogers glanced down at his watch, internally timing her as the laptop downloaded the flash drive. She opened up the folder and began getting to work. She used all of her technological prowess to try and hack the flash drive, but it kept eluding her every single time, almost as if it was learning her tricks and evading her with ease.

Rogers was like a wall at her back; broad, unyielding and breathing down her neck as she attempted to crack the code of the flash drive. She scowled and bit her lip, her tongue darting out as she typed quickly, the keys clacking with every keystroke.

Several minutes later she groaned in annoyance as her latest maneuver was outsmarted by the computer.

“Fury was right about that ship, somebody’s trying to hide something. This drive is protected by some kind of AI, it keeps rewriting itself to counter my commands.”

“Can you override it?” Rogers asked intently at her shoulder. She shot him a dirty look as she went back to typing.

“The person who developed this is slightly smarter than me,” she glanced back down and jabbed the enter button angrily. “Slightly.”

Suddenly an idea came to her as she began typing again. “I'm gonna try running a tracer. This is a program that SHIELD developed to track hostile malware, so if we can't read the file, maybe we can find out where it came from.”

She opened the program, honing it in on the flash drive as it began triangulating, attempting to catch the location of the AI.

She watched as a map of the United States appeared before zooming in as it began hunting down its location.

“Can I help you guys with anything?” a deep, cheerful voice asked from behind them as Rogers jumped up, expertly blocking Sharon and the computer screen from view. Sharon glanced up and saw an Apple employee with a long mane of hair and a bushy beard. A true millennial.

Yep, she could get rid of that.

“Oh no,” she replied, not taking her eyes off the screen. “My fiancé was just helping me with some honeymoon destinations.”

Because she couldn’t resist, she reached up and lovingly squeezed Rogers’ shoulders as she batted her eyes at the worker. Rogers chuckled weakly, a timid smile on his face as he nodded earnestly at the guy.

“Right! We’re getting married.”

Sharon had turned back and watched as the map had closed in on the northeastern coast.

“Congratulations,” Apple Guy said with genuine happiness. “Where are you guys thinking of going?”

Desperate, Rogers glanced over his shoulder at the screen and saw where the signal was currently locked.

“New Jersey,” he replied as Sharon rolled her eyes. Smooth, Rogers, real smooth.

“Oh,” Apple Guy said before staring intently at Rogers’ face. Rogers fidgeted under the scrutiny, scared he was being made just as Apply Guy pointed at him.

“I have the exact same glasses,” he exclaimed cheerfully as Rogers’ deflated in relief.

“Wow,” Sharon deadpanned from her post at the laptop, watching the signal lock into the source. “You two are practically twins.”

Apply Guy guffawed loudly, shaking his head. “Yeah, I wish.” He gestured to Rogers’ impressive physique before shaking his head. “Specimen. Uh…if you guys need anything, I’ve been Aaron.”

Rogers waved him off as he walked away. Rogers turned back towards her, checking his watch.

“You said nine minutes,” he stated quietly. “Come on.”

“Give me a minute,” she replied. She was almost there. And…

“Got it!” she exclaimed with excitement, happy to have finally one-upped that piece of shit AI.

The signal was coming from Wheaton, New Jersey.

She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion as Rogers leaned in, taking in the location.

“You know it?” she asked and he nodded, eyes dazed.

“I used to,” he glanced around the store, fearful that SHIELD was already upon them. “Let’s go.”

She pulled out the flash drive and allowed Rogers to usher her out of the store. They trekked through the mall, keeping their heads down but an eye out for any trouble.

Trouble came quickly.

It didn’t take the pair long to see several STRIKE members closing in on them. Sharon eyed the two walking their way. They were twenty feet away and closing in.

Rogers leaned in and began instructing. “Standard tac-team. Two behind, two across, two coming straight at us. If they make us, I'll engage, you hit the south escalator to the Metro.”

Again, he was going about this the entirely wrong way. One doesn’t make a scene in such a crowded place, one blends in.

And Sharon had learned from the best about blending in.

“Shut up and put your arm around me, laugh at something I said,” she directed quietly.

Only ten feet now.

Rogers nearly halted in place as he stared at her.

“What?” His eyes looked near to bugging out of his head.

“Do it!” she hissed just as they came upon the two STRIKE members. Rogers was quick, slinging his arm around her shoulder, as she reached up and entwined their fingers. He laughed highly, ducking his head as they strolled casually past the two STRIKE members, who didn’t even spare them a sidelong glance. Rogers peaked over his shoulder, watching them walk away none the wiser, surprise clearly written on his handsome face.

“See,” Sharon whispered to him with a smug grin. “So overt it’s covert.”

Rogers rolled his eyes and released her just as they came upon the escalator. Sharon stepped down first and Rogers planted himself on the step above her. It was smooth sailing down the escalator until something caught Sharon’s eyes.

Rumlow. _Shit._

He was coming up just as they were going down. He’d for sure notice Rogers as they passed him.

Unless…

She turned fully to Rogers, her eyes square with his chest, as she stared up at him.

“Don’t freak out,” she warned as he raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“Why would I freak out?” His voice was wary, with good reason. Sharon gulped, glanced back and saw Rumlow growing ever closer. She whirled back to Rogers and sucked up her pride and nerves.

“Because we need to make out.”

“What?” he asked loudly before clamping his mouth shut. Sharon rolled her eyes and explained matter-of-factly.

“Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable.”

“Yes,” Rogers insisted. “They do.”

They didn’t have time for this. She reached up for his neck, fingers tangling into his blond locks, and yanked his head down. Instead of lips meeting lips, she jammed his head into her neck and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding onto him tightly. His arms flailed madly before awkwardly settling on her hips, hands clenched into fists.

Rogers was tense around her, clearly perplexed by the whole display. He was firm though, his body solid and strong as she clung to him. She could feel the heat of his body, higher due to the serum, warming her as she held on. Even as she was eyeing Rumlow as he passed them, she couldn’t help but notice the subtle cologne Rogers was wearing. It was nice. Not overwhelming or juvenile like Axe. It was a pleasant scent: rich and deep, comforting like a favorite sweater on a chilly day. She wouldn’t mind burrowing into a pillow marked with its scent.

_Control yourself, Carter._

Once Rumlow was out of eyesight, Sharon released the Avenger and turned back around calmly.

“See, that wasn’t so bad,” she said more to herself than him. She could feel Rogers gaping bewilderedly at her backside the rest of the escalator down. The two made it out of the mall without any more fuss, and Sharon was bee-lining it towards her stingray when Rogers grabbed her arm.

“We can’t use your car.”

“Excuse me?” she asked indignantly, insulted on her car’s behalf.

“They’re going to get the security tapes and once they do they’ll know you’re with me. All they have to do is run your plates and then they’ll track us down. We need a new car.”  

She could see the logic in that, but she was loathed to admit it. She sent a mournful glance towards her baby before looking away, scoping out the parking lot.

“Well, what are we going to use?” she questioned, turning her back on the super soldier as she peered around. “I don’t know about you, but I am not driving a minivan. A soccer mom I am not.”

She whirled around at the sound of a motor igniting and saw Rogers sitting in a cobalt Chevy Silverado.

“Well I’ll be,” she murmured to herself as she hurried over and hoisted herself up into the passenger seat. Rogers put it in drive and they were off, making their way towards I-195 W.

It wasn’t until they passed Baltimore that Sharon was confident they weren’t being tailed and she allowed herself to relax. She threw off her snapback, shrugged out of the bomber jacket and leaned back in her seat, sitting crisscross and eyeing Rogers speculatively. He caught her gaze and raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

“What?” he asked as Sharon shrugged.

“That was fast work you made of hotwiring the truck," she mused thoughtfully. "I’m impressed.”

“What?” he questioned with faux surprise. “No shock or disappointment of ‘where did Captain America ever learn to steal a car?'" He glanced at her poignantly. "It was Nazi Germany, by the way.”

Sharon smiled at his sass while shaking her head.

“Well, it would be shocking of the Star Spangled Man with a Plan to ever have the thought to steal a car, but Steve Rogers…hotwiring a car for his own purpose seems right up his alley." Sharon's grin grew playful. "If anything, what I’m surprised about is you know how to drive.”

Rogers barked out a surprised laugh and Sharon was happy to see him relaxing, if only momentarily. He had been wound up tight ever since the hospital. He was a man on a mission, but everyone needs a break now or then, superhero or not.

“Bucky taught me,” he offered up. “We’d drive his dad’s ’39 Ford in the back alleys of Brooklyn.”

His face eased up, momentarily being lost in the pleasant memory. Times like these, rare that they were, really showed how young Rogers was.

The world may see Captain America when they looked at him, but he still was only 28 years old and the youngest member of the Avengers as well as its leader. Rather young to be carrying the weight of the world on one’s shoulders.

A stretch of silence passed before an impish gleam came to Rogers’ eyes as he eyed her.

“So,” he began as Sharon watched him. “Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable, huh?”

Sharon felt a slight blush coming to her cheeks, so she was quick to look out the window as she responded practically.

“Yes, they do. It was effective, wasn’t it? Rumlow diverted his eyes the second he saw us necking like teenagers who just got past second base.”

“ _Looking_ like necking teenagers,” Rogers corrected smartly. “We’re weren’t actually kissing.”

Sharon turned towards the super-soldier with a sly grin. “Are you upset about this fact? Did you want me to kiss you? Have you secretly been pining this whole time, Rogers?" She placed a hand over her heart as she batted her eyes exaggeratedly. "I’m flattered.”

Rogers huffed while rolling his eyes. “That’s irrelevant. Why didn’t you kiss me?”

The blonde spy felt thrown at the question. Why hadn’t she kissed him? He was the most attractive man she had ever seen (bar Thor). It wouldn’t have been personal, just part of the mission.

And yet…

Images of Peggy flashed through her mind. She knew of their one, iconic kiss. Every sophomore in US History knew about it. It was tragic, beautiful, and really pushed home the concept of star-crossed lovers that historians believed in.

Peggy had been the last person to kiss Rogers before he had woken up in a brave new world. And Sharon hated the idea of his next one being a lie, especially coming from her. She was already keeping so much from him.

Finally, she settled on shrugging as she twiddled her fingers. “I guess I just didn’t want your first kiss since 1945 to be a rouse.”

Rogers looked at her for a moment before turning back to the road, his hands on the wheel. “That’s…oddly sweet of you. Except, that wasn’t my first kiss since 1945.”

Now Sharon was flummoxed. Who was this man and what had he done with Steve Rogers?

“What?!” she exclaimed loudly, slapping the super soldier on the arm excitedly. “Why am I now just hearing about this? You saying you have game, Rogers? What, did Nat finally convince you to go on a date with someone? Who was it? Was it Kristen from Statistics?”

“No. It was-“

“Ooh, what about Lillian from Accounting? She’s cute.”

“The one with the lip piercing?” At her nod, Rogers grimaced. “I’m not ready for that. It was a waitress from New York. Her name’s Beth. I used to frequent the café she worked at the first few weeks after coming out of the ice. Then the Chitauri happened and she was in the middle of all of it…she must have caught a glimpse of me without my mask on and she was smart, put it all together.

“In the days after, I was helping with cleanup and looking for survivors buried in the rubble and she found me and…laid one on me.”

He wrinkled his nose as he recalled the memory. “It was kind of aggressive really. More teeth than lips. She then thanked me for my service and gave me her phone number.”

Sharon couldn’t help but grin broadly. “Well, look at that, we have a lady-killer over here. So, you ever call her?”

Rogers was quick to form that self-deprecating grin as he glanced down, the edges of his smile turning brittle, hardening his face.

“Nah, the whole world was chomping at the bit for Captain America and I needed time to clear my head…and when it was cleared I moved to DC and joined SHIELD. So, no, I didn’t keep in touch. But I got a kiss, so I guess you could say I’m not totally hopeless.”

His attempt at a joke fell flat as Sharon’s gaze turned sympathetic. She forgot most of the time the kind of pressure he lived under on a daily basis. He handled it so well it was easy to think he was completely adjusted.

“Well,” she began, “Thank you for trusting me with that story.”

Rogers blew out a breath, fondness sweeping away. “Trust. That’s funny coming from you.”

And, once again, everything was back to shaky ground with the duo. They were practically a soap opera with the constant back and forth. Trust and mistrust cycling around, over and over again.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she questioned defensively, sinking further into her seat.

“You know what it means,” he retorted hotly as she fiddled with her long hair absentmindedly, wrapping stands around her slender fingers.

Yes, she did know what it meant. What it had always meant to Rogers. It was the reason why he had never fully let her in, no matter how hard she prodded.

“Why does my name even matter to you?”

Yes, she understood he was a man of principle and morals. But why had he always been so hung up on her name? Knowing who she was wouldn’t change their working relationship, though she didn’t know how much longer said working relationship would last. The two were on the run from SHIELD, for crying out loud. Her world had completely turned on its head, and she was scrambling to keep up.

But then again, maybe that’s how Rogers had felt every day since waking up in the 21st Century.

“Well, it’s hard to trust somebody to watch my six if I don’t even know her name,” he stated with finality as he turned away, once more disappointed in her and her lack of faith in him.

Silence passed as she watched him and he refused to meet her gaze. She glanced away and cracked her knuckles nervously before chipping away at her turquoise nail polish as she attempted to organize her thoughts.

She was so very tired. Tired of doubting and second-guessing herself about where she stood with Rogers. And she was tired of lying. She'd been tired for a very long time. He’d hate her when he learned the truth, but at least he’d know who she really was. But now wasn't the right time. They were in the calm of the storm and she wasn't a fool, she could see choppy waters ahead. But maybe...just maybe she could tell him half of the truth, an olive branch of sorts.

She breathed in deeply, mind made up, before uttering a single word.

“Sharon.”

It echoed around the tight confines of the truck as Rogers raised an eyebrow, taking his eyes off the road.

“Hmm?”

Sharon looked down at her hands as she repeated, “My name is Sharon.”

Cheesy as it was, she felt instantly lighter at her revelation. The gap that had separated them for nearly two years was dissolving right before her eyes and all she could feel was relief. She hadn't revealed everything, but maybe this was enough for right now. Enough for him to trust her and get them through the task ahead, figuring out what the hell was going on with SHIELD and who wanted Fury dead. She could figure out the rest later when they had time.

“Sharon, huh?” Rogers examined gently, no judgment in his tone. He mouthed the name experimentally to himself, feeling it out on his tongue. She hoped it lived up to his lofty expectations. Two years was a long time to wait for a simple name. She'd hate to disappoint him now.

“Mmhmm,” Sharon hummed in response.

“It’s a nice name,” he offered up as she chuckled weakly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“It has its origins in Hebrew. Means ‘plain,’” she added with a disparaging grin.

Rogers glanced at her - eyes enigmatic - for a long moment before remarking, “Well, that’s funny, because I don’t think there’s anything plain about you.”

She blinked up at him in surprise as he held his hand out to her. “Nice to meet you, Sharon. I’m Steve.”

She stared at Rogers’ – _no_ – Steve’s hand for a moment before reaching out and shaking it. His hand was warm and dry and she felt the slight callouses of his palm against her skin. The two exchanged a brief smile before looking away.

Maybe they could do this after all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He knows her name! Now they're only halfway there. And no kiss, only because when they kiss (and in the future they will kiss!) it will be because both are wanting it :) 
> 
> Thank you for all the previous reviews. You guys are the bomb-dot-com. Keep them coming in! They push me to post faster because I just get so excited to share this story with all of you. 
> 
> Pic time! 
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> Sharon's whole getup at the mall:  
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	5. I Wish You Could Be Honest with Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is SHIELD.” Sharon whispered in dumbstruck awe as she took in her surroundings. Peggy had always made it seem that SHIELD had been started in DC, she had never mentioned anything about Lehigh being its birthplace.
> 
> “Maybe where it started,” the Avenger surmised as they stepped carefully through the sea of dust covered desks. Steve prodded a backroom door and the pair stepped in, seeing nothing but empty shelving covered in a thick layer of dust. Hanging on the walls were several black and white photos highlighting SHIELD’s three founders: General Chester Phillips, Howard Stark and Peggy Carter.

**_April 2 nd, 2014 _ **

**_Gyumri, Armenia_ **

****

Rain was pelting down on the roof of the safe house, echoing loudly in the tight, confined space. It would have been soothing to Natasha Romanoff if it hadn’t been competing against the hum of the old school TV that members of STRIKE Team Delta were watching out in the living room.

Natasha continued pacing in her bedroom. It was a routine mission. But everything else occurring in the world seemed less than routine.

Fury was dead.

Natasha felt sick just thinking about it. She forced herself to swallow the lump in her throat and continued pacing, as elegant and deadly as a tiger.

Ever since the news had reached them through the appropriate channels, SHIELD and the Triskelion had been on a complete blackout. They couldn’t be reached and they weren’t reaching out.

All Natasha had received was a quick text from Sitwell urging her and her team to continue their mission. They were expected to remain in Armenia for another week.

She had attempted to send out feelers to Clint in Afghanistan, but the archer was remaining silent as well. Sharon hadn’t answered her phone since her frantic phone call citing that the Winter Soldier was somehow involved in Fury’s assassination.

Natasha reached down and gently stroked her fingers over the jagged scar on her hipbone. She could still remember the flare of pain as the bullet pierced her skin, ripping through her body and coming out clear on the other side.

The one man to ever get a shot on her. The world’s deadliest assassin.

She hoped, for Sharon and Steve’s sake, that the blonde was wrong and the ghost wasn’t involved.

If he was, Natasha didn’t give them much of a chance of surviving. A man like the Winter Soldier only had one thing: his mission. And he always completed the mission.

She was pulled out of her musings when she heard a ping from her duffle bag. She snapped her head up, already on high alert.

That hadn’t been her SHIELD phone.

She treaded cautiously to her bag and pulled out an archaic, burner phone. Only a few people in the world had this number and knew only to text it when shit had truly hit the fan. She hesitated for a moment, her hand outstretched over the phone, before enclosing it and picking it up. She flipped it open to see a single text message waiting for her.

**From Unknown Number:**

_SHIELD compromised. Don’t trust STRIKE._

Natasha’s blood went cold as she glanced towards the closed doorway. Beyond her door were six STRIKE members lounging in the makeshift living room, enjoying beer and horribly dubbed episodes of _Cheers_.

She had an idea of who had sent that text and she knew it wasn’t a false alarm. Something had felt off ever since she had learned Fury had been killed.

Something was horribly wrong.

Natasha snapped the phone shut with finality, stuffed it in her pocket and began rifling through her duffle bag. She pulled out several passports, all sporting various aliases, several gadgets, and SHIELD tech, as well as an assemblage of firearms.

When she had two pistols in her hands, she crept silently towards the door, listened to the faint noise outside of it and mentally charted where the six STRIKE members were located. She opened the door and walked into the living room casually.

Parsons, one of STRIKE, looked up with a nod. “Hey, Widow, we were just-"

She didn’t give him a chance to finish as she raised one of the pistols and shot hit clear in the head. He went down with a slump, the life swept clear from him.

An uproar of yells erupted throughout the cramped space, as men jumped up, making grabs for their guns.

She didn’t give them a chance.

It only took minutes to have the remaining five laying sprawled across the living room, blood seeping out of the wounds as they laid there, dead or dying.

Natasha took a moment to glance around, she had served with these men for years. But she knew now they’d kill her first if given the opportunity. She holstered her two pistols before marching determinedly out of the safe house and into the downpour outside.

She disappeared into the shadows as if she had never been there in the first place.

 

* * *

 

****

**_April 2 nd, 2014_ **

**_Camp Lehigh_ **

****

It was overcast and shadowy as the Silverado pulled up to a rickety chain-link fence, a rusted sign reading NO TRESPASSING reflecting in the overhead lights. Beyond the fence was a crumbling ghost town of abandoned buildings.

Steve turned off the truck and dimmed the lights as the two SHIELD agents slipped out of the vehicle to look around.

“This is it,” Steve announced, slamming his door shut and hooking his shield onto his arm. Sharon - shrugging back into her jacket - checked the coordinates on her phone a final time before looking up questioningly.

“The file came from these coordinates.”

Steve had easily broken the lock holding the fence together and gestured for her to go first as she slipped through the gap.

“So did I,” the First Avenger replied as he slithered in after her. The two began fanning out, walking through the overgrown grass and the uneven ground.

“This camp is where I was trained,” he additionally explained. Sharon had faint memories of Peggy mentioning Camp Lehigh, but it was white noise as she peered around determinedly.  

It looked like no one had been here in years.

“Changed much?” she asked curiously, holding up her phone to have light as it cast shadows around her. She turned her back to Steve as she glanced around.

“A little,” he murmured, seemingly lost in long ago memories. His blue eyes trailed across the camp and suddenly it was 1943 again and he was nothing more than a recruit in a crazy SSR scheme. He could hear General Phillips’ distinct bark in his ears, see Peggy’s larger than life entrance into his life, and remembered the kindness and compassion Dr. Erskine had shown him when no one else had.

He could see it clear as day, him and his unit, practicing a drill exercise as Sergeant Duffy bellowed from the front of the line.

_“Pick up the pace, ladies! Let's go! Let's go! Double time! Come on, Rogers, move it!”_

In his mind, he could see himself so vividly. Five foot two, 90 pounds soaking wet, and wearing a pack heavier than himself, jostling along as best as he could, asthma be damned. His former self, the person Steve saw every day he looked in the mirror, paused, out of breath, right in front of the super soldier. He turned his head and stared at Steve as if he was really standing there. He seemed transfixed by his future self as Steve stared back, lost in what was and wasn’t real.

 _“Come on! Fall in! Rogers! I said fall in!_ _”_

With one final glance, past-Steve jogged away, wheezing just as he had always done. Present day Steve watched him go as the memory slipped away and all that was left were the ghostly remains of Camp Lehigh.

“This is a dead end,” Sharon announced from her perch, lowering her phone. “Zero heat signature, zero waves, not even radio. Whoever wrote the file must have used a router to throw people off.”

She blew out a breath, disappointed by the dead end. It seemed that blasted AI had gotten one over her again. Steve turned to look at her, but his gaze was immediately attracted to something over her shoulder. She spun around and didn’t note of interest.

“What is it?” she asked as he began marching purposefully towards a bunker, shoulders squared stubbornly.

“Army regulations forbid storing ammunition within five hundred yards of the barracks,” he explained tersely. “This building is in the wrong place.”

He regarded the lock before bringing his shield down hard, shattering it in one blow. He tugged on the metal door, and with a groan, it was pulled open. The two entered the dark space, trotted down the stairs and found an abandoned office of sorts. At the far wall was the crest of SHIELD, though an older and vintage image, not the modern one Sharon always associated with the intelligence agency.

“This is SHIELD,” Sharon whispered in dumbstruck awe as she took in her surroundings. Peggy had always made it seem like SHIELD had been started in DC, she had never mentioned anything about Lehigh being its birthplace.

“Maybe where it started,” the Avenger surmised as they stepped carefully through the sea of dust covered desks. Steve prodded a backroom door and the pair stepped in, seeing nothing but empty shelving covered in a thick layer of dust. Hanging on the walls were several black and white photos highlighting SHIELD’s three founders: General Chester Phillips, Howard Stark, and Peggy Carter.

Sharon couldn’t help but stare at Peggy’s photo. She was so young and vivacious, her red shade of lipstick stunning even in black and white. She glanced at Steve out of the corner of her eye to find that he was also transfixed by her great-aunt’s image. Her gaze flitted away quickly as she cleared her throat; Rogers glancing over at her.

“SHIELD’s Big Three,” she gestured to the photos as Steve jerkily nodded and turned, body tense. He walked forward towards a massive bookshelf and raised an eyebrow when he felt a draft coming up through its cracks. He stared intently at the bookshelf as Sharon came up from behind him.

“If you’re already working in a secret office,” he declared, pushing on the shelf and moving it to its side to reveal another door hidden there. “Why do you need to hide the elevator?”

It could only be entered by a passcode. Sharon whipped out her SHIELD phone and pressed its decoder app and held the phone up as it flashed a green light over the keyboard. It scanned it for a moment before a 3D display of the correct key sequence appeared as a hologram. Sharon lowered the phone, typed in the correct passcode, and the elevator door opened with a muted ping. The two shared a look before Steve shrugged and the two entered the elevator. Steve hit the button for the lower bunker and with a slow halt, the elevator began to descend. The two stood in silence, not knowing what to expect as the elevator came to a stop.

The elevator doors opened to reveal an extensive, dark room. As Sharon and Steve walked forward, fluorescent lights flickered on, bathing the pair in an eerie light. They walked past row after row of archaic computers and machines.

The entire space looked straight out of the 1970s.

At the heart of the room was a massive computer console, housed with clunky machines, their massive screens black. A fine layer of dust was settled over everything.

It seemed no one had been here for a long time.

“This can’t be the data-point,” Sharon remarked, her voice echoing in the cavernous space. “This technology is ancient.”

She didn’t even think half of these computers would turn on if prodded. Hell, she didn’t even know how to work any of them.

Apple Computers, they were not.

Her eyes darted across the blank screens before they were drawn downward and she startled in surprise at the sight of a modern drive port resting there innocuously. Pulling the flash drive from her pocket, she contemplatively regarded it for a moment before reaching forward and plugged it into the port.

Like opening Pandora’s Box, the room came to life before them. The rows of computers began whirling, more lights flashed on, and the noise of technobabble rang throughout the underground basement.

 _“Initiate system?”_ a disembodied, computerized voice asked from the main computer as the words typed themselves across the screen. Sharon glanced back towards Steve, who shrugged. She leaned forward and quickly typed in yes as the screen changed. She stepped back and couldn’t help but think of Natasha as she stared around the bunker.

“If Natasha was here, she’d say something like ‘shall we play a game?’” she turned to the super soldier who was regarding her blankly. “It’s from a movie – “

“I know," Rogers cut in. "I saw it.”

Sharon lifted an eyebrow, impressed when suddenly an accented voice interrupted them.

_“Rogers, Steven. Born 1918.”_

The two jumped and stared ahead as the screen morphed into a cybernetic face.

 _“Agent 13,”_ the voice addressed Sharon. _“Born 1986.”_

As the machine spoke, Steve turned increasingly rigid, as if he was remembering something from long ago. 

“It must be some kind of recording,” Sharon guessed as the large, monitor camera turned to face her in something akin to judgment.

_“I am not a recording, Fraulein. I may not be the man I was when the Captain took me prisoner in 1945, but I am.”_

On a side computer, an image of Armin Zola appeared. Sharon stared at it in surprise. She had a faint memory of learning about the man as a child.

 “Steve, what is this?” the blonde asked the Avenger as he warily began circling the console.

“Armin Zola was a German scientist who worked for the Red Skull. He’s been dead for years.”

 _“First correction, I am Swiss,”_ the computer replied testily. _“Second, look around you. I have never been more alive. In 1972, I received a terminal diagnosis. Science could not save my body, my mind, however, that was worth saving on two hundred thousand feet of data banks. You are standing in my brain.”_

Steve had returned from his walkabout and was standing shoulder to shoulder with Sharon as he addressed the machine. “How did you get here?”

 _“Invited,”_ Zola smugly quipped as Steve looked at Sharon questioningly.

“It was Operation Paperclip,” she explained automatically, using her Georgetown education. “After World War II, SHIELD recruited German scientists with strategic values.”

It was a decision Howard Stark and General Phillips had forced down Peggy’s throat. She had never been a fan of letting the enemy in. It seemed she had been right in her misgivings.

_“They thought I could help their cause. I also helped my own.”_

A chill swept up Sharon’s spine as Steve squared his jaw and slanted towards the computer.

“Hydra died with the Red Skull,” Steve insisted strongly.

 _“Cut off one head,”_ Zola stated mockingly as the symbol of Hydra appeared on the screen. _“And two more shall take its place.”_

Zola’s digital face split into two just to ensure the pair were completely aware of its implications. Sharon felt her pulse roaring in her ears as Steve tensed beside her, his face the image of restrained fury.

“Prove it,” the Avenger challenged.

_“Accessing archive.”_

On the screen to Steve’s left, an image of Schmidt appeared, standing before his legion of Hydra followers.

_“Hydra was founded out of the belief that humanity could not be trusted with its own freedom. What we did not realize, was that if you try and take that freedom, they resist.”_

Reels of footage of Captain America from the War flashed across the screen.

 _“The War taught us much,_ ” the computer continued. _“Humanity needed to surrender its freedom willingly. After the war, SHIELD was founded.”_

A picture of SHIELD’s first offices materialized on the screen, the same image Peggy had had hanging in her home study all of Sharon’s life.

Peggy and Howard Stark were standing there, young and confident in the difference they would be making in the world. Sharon’s stomach flip-flopped at the sight of her great-aunt.

_“I was recruited. The new Hydra grew. A beautiful parasite inside SHIELD.”_

Sharon shook her head, even as the images proved otherwise. Suddenly war and chaos erupted across the screens.

_“For seventy years Hydra has been secretly feeding crisis, reaping war. And when history did not cooperate, history was changed.”_

A sniper. A metal arm, a red star.

The Winter Soldier.

“That’s not possible,” Sharon exclaimed, her words thick with emotion. “SHIELD would have stopped you.”

Peggy wouldn’t have let this happen. Fury had been a lot of things, but he hadn’t been Hydra.

Zola was lying. He had to be lying. But yet…

As if feeling her heart breaking, the computer’s voice taunted her as it began speaking again.

_“Accidents will happen.”_

A newspaper clipping of Howard Stark’s automobile accident popped up, followed by a blacked out image of Fury, the word DECEASED across his face.

Sharon felt sick. Her palms were clammy and it was growing increasingly hard to breathe.

Steve was practically trembling beside her and he was biting his cheek so hard, she worried he’d bleed. But still, the computer kept speaking.

_“Hydra created a world so chaotic that humanity is finally ready to sacrifice its freedom to gain its security. Once the purification process is complete, Hydra’s new world order will arise.”_

Images of Project Insight and its long-range missiles filled the screen as Sharon’s world dropped out from beneath her.

 _“We won, Captain,”_ Zola mocked. _“Your death amounts to the same as your life: a zero-sum.”_

Steve, in a fit of rage, punched the monitor, shattering it as glass sprayed everywhere. The two were left in silence for only a second before the screen to Sharon’s right came alight with Zola’s image on it.

_“As I was saying…”_

“What’s on this drive?” Steve demanded, getting up close to the screen.

_“Project Insight requires insight. So I wrote an algorithm.”_

“What kind of algorithm? What does it do?” Sharon questioned from behind Steve. Her tone tinged onto slightly hysterical.

The camera regarded her for a moment curiously, before slyly remarking, _“The answer to your question is fascinating, Agent Carter.”_

Sharon’s entire body froze and for a moment she forgot to breathe. She closed her eyes as Steve, equally rigid, turned towards her with furrowed brows.

“Carter?” he asked, his eyes boring a hole into the side of her head.

 _“Oh, does he not know?”_ Zola asked gleefully and if Sharon could kill a computer, he’d be dead several times over.

“Sharon, what is he talking about?” Steve questioned softly, eyes trusting, as the blonde spy shuddered in silent despair.

He said her name. Why did he have to same her name so gently? He’d never say it that way again.

She opened her mouth, tried to speak, but closed it as Zola once more jumped in, stabbing the knife further.

_“Sharon Elizabeth Marie Carter, the great-niece of Director Margaret Carter. It seems you have been lied to, Captain. A shame.”_

“Shut up!” Sharon hissed to the machine as a picture of her and Peggy from her high school graduation appeared on the screen. Sharon had her arms thrown around Peggy, their faces pressed together with matching, beaming grins on their faces. Peggy had been so proud of her that day. Steve stared at it, the betrayal etched into his skin as his mouth thinned, eyes going cold.

“Is it true?” the super soldier asked, his voice unreadable. She looked at him, how closed off his posture was and then looked away.

“Steve, I wanted to tell you-"

He cut her off with a bitter laugh. “Unbelievable.”

 _“Sorry to interrupt your lover’s quarrel,”_ Zola’s voice cut in. _“But to go back to Agent Carter’s initial question, I do have an answer. Unfortunately, you will be too dead to hear it.”_

The elevator doors bolted shut behind steel beams. Steve reactively threw his shield, but all it did was ricochet off the steel and bounced around the room. Sharon’s SHIELD phone beeped in warning as she pulled it out of her back pocket.

Her eyes widened as she read it. “We have a bogey,” she said to Steve. “Short-range ballistic. Thirty seconds tops.”

“Who fired it?”

“SHIELD,” she grimly replied.

_“I am afraid I have been stalling, Captain. Admit it, it’s better this way.”_

Sharon lunged for the flash drive but it did nothing to stop Zola from speaking to them as Steve fruitlessly searched for a way out. The super-soldier’s eyes were drawn to the large floor grates and he lunged forward, quickly tossing one to the side to see a sewer below.

 _“We’re both of us,”_ Zola said in ending as Sharon ran forward. _“Out of time.”_

An explosion followed his words and all Sharon felt at her back was heat, all she heard was the building falling apart around her. The explosion propelled her the last foot into the sewer, Steve diving in after her. He covered her body, shield raised, as the world collapsed upon them.

There was fire, smoke, rubble, and a devastating cave in.

Then everything was suffocating darkness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUH DUH DUHHHH!
> 
> Oh boy, I did that. And oh boy, Steve is not a happy camper. Now besides dealing with the fallout of SHIELD being Hydra, Blonde Squared will have to work through Sharon's long held secret. And I don't think Steve will make things easy for her. 
> 
> Thank you so much for the previous reviews! They are an absolute joy to receive. 
> 
> Pic time!
> 
> Natasha in Armenia:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/39841266861/in/dateposted-public/)


	6. You're the Queen of Nothing at All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are we going to talk about it?” she asked listlessly as Rogers busied himself with doing anything that didn’t involve looking at her.
> 
> “Talk about what?” he countered darkly, “The fact you’ve been lying to me the entire time I’ve known you?”
> 
> His tone was as hard as marble, but she knew it was just his way of masking his deep-seated pain. He was angry because he had been opening up to her, trusting her, and she had thrown it right back in his face.

**_June 26 th, 2001_ **

**_The Carter Estate, England_ **

****

It was an abnormally sunny day in the English countryside as a soft breeze rustled the leaves of the trees, allowing them to dance in the afternoon light. The beautiful view did nothing to abate Sharon’s sour state of being. The fifteen-year-old was in a right foul mood and had been stewing all morning since a heated argument with her mother as the family had eaten their English breakfasts.

It was the same argument she and her mother had been having for months.

SHIELD.

Rather, Sharon’s desire to one day join SHIELD and be a kickass spy just like her Aunt Peggy before her.

Her mother was adamantly against it. But what did she know? She was an interior designer. She made things decorative and one thing Sharon refused to be was merely decorative.

She scowled just thinking about it as she raised her rifle, tossing her nearly waist length blonde hair over her shoulder. She had tried walking off her anger, stomping through the fields and forests that surrounded the sprawling Carter Estate. But that hadn’t done anything for her. Hell, if she truly wanted to walk off her anger she’d have to march towards Scotland. She probably only would feel better around the time she’d reach Hadrian’s Wall.

She angrily shoved the magazine in and pushed the bolt forward. She fingered the trigger guard, cradled the guard and locked the butt of the weapon into her shoulder. She set her feet apart and aimed towards the target rings. She took a deep breath and released 2/3s of it before gently squeezing the trigger.

The shot rang throughout the field and the kickback of the rifle was sudden and blunt, but she held her ground as she saw the shot through. She looked ahead and saw she had landed her bullet just inside the 9th ring of the target.

Not bad.

She raised her rifle to fire again when she heard slow clapping from behind her. She turned and wasn’t surprised to see Peggy making her way toward her.

Even at 80 years of age, Peggy was agile and graceful as she walked towards her great-niece. Her dusky, grey hair fell in gentle waves down her shoulders and while her face was aged, it was only a testament to the incredibly prolific life she had led as a spy and director of a major intelligence agency.

“Good shot, dearest,” she complimented, her accent prim and proper as she came to a stop beside the teenager. “If you tilt slightly to the left I think you’ll find yourself hitting it dead on.”

Sharon eagerly followed Peggy’s advice and true to form, ended up with a bullseye. She grinned as she lowered her rifle and turned towards her aunt.

“If you’re here about my mom…” Sharon muttered, running a hand through her hair as Peggy’s face became sympathetic.

“It seemed a rather big blowout if the screaming was anything to go by.”

“It was her fault!” the teen stubbornly declared as Peggy arched an eyebrow in response, saying more with a single look than words ever could. Sharon flushed under her gaze and dejectedly kicked at the grass.

“Alright, I may have played a role in it, but she started it!”

Peggy chuckled as she crossed her arms over her chest, looking every bit an English lady in her Barbour jacket and her knee-high wellies.

“And my mother used to say that stubbornness was only a trait in the male Carters. It seems you and I are proof that that was a wishful thought, dearest.”

Peggy sighed and glanced across the countryside, the sloping hills, the grazing sheep and the deep forests. This is where she grew up, this is where she would one day be buried, alongside Daniel, her parents, and brother. It was home, pure and simple. She may have lived in cities like New York, London, and DC, but this was where she felt most at ease.

She was brought back to the present as her great-niece began ranting passionately again. “She just doesn’t understand, Aunt Peggy.”

“What doesn’t she understand, dearest?”

“That I want to be a SHIELD agent! I’ve always wanted to be one and nothing is going to stop me, least of all my mother.”

Peggy exhaled softly and regarded the teenager in front of her. “She just wants what is best for you,” she volunteered diplomatically as the girl scoffed.

“She wants me to not be like you, is what you mean.”

Peggy couldn’t stop the curl of her lip as she reached out and placed a delicate hand on Sharon’s shoulder.

“She wants you to be safe,” Peggy countered. “And safety is not a guarantee in my line of work.”

“Well screw safety,” the blonde argued fervidly, her brown eyes alight with feeling. “I want to help people, I don’t care about the cost of myself to do that.”

The teenager planted her feet and jutted out her chin and suddenly Peggy was transformed to 1943 as she watched a pipsqueak of a soldier throw himself down onto a dummy grenade, ready to sacrifice himself for everyone around him.

Peggy swallowed the lump in her throat as she turned Sharon to her and cupped her face, her fingers slowly running over the smooth skin of her rosy, apple cheeks.

“That’s why, when the time is right, you will make an excellent agent of SHIELD,” she proclaimed as the young girl gifted her with a beautiful grin.

“But for now,” she cautioned, bobbing Sharon on the nose. “You are only a teenager, and I think what would be best is to give your mother some peace of mind.”

Sharon opened her mouth to argue, but Peggy cut in. “She loves you so very much, don’t waste time squabbling with her. You’ll regret all the wasted opportunities, trust an old woman on this.”

The blonde stared into her aunt’s eyes for a long moment, seeing the shadows and memories haunting her there, before diligently nodding. Peggy grinned and dropped her hands.

“Excellent. Now, let’s work on your aim. I want consistent bullseyes.”

Sharon grinned and picked up her rifle as Peggy gently instructed her.

 

* * *

 

****

**_April 3 rd, 2014_ **

**_Outside Philadelphia_ **

****

Sharon jerked away with a grasp. She kicked herself into a sitting position, disoriented and sore all over. She checked her breathing and forced her heart to calm down as she stared out at her dark surroundings.

She was in the Silverado Rogers had absconded with hours before. She was laid out in the backseat, Rogers’ jacket stretched across her like a blanket. She peered down at her clothes, covered in soot and ash. A quick glance at her arms showed an array of scrapes and bruises already developing and her ribs felt like crying out in pain at her sudden and jarring awakening. Abruptly the memory of the events from before rammed into her like a tidal wave.

Camp Lehigh. Zola. Hydra. Carter.

Shit.

Rogers knew her name, her _full_ name.

Her eyes darted to the driver’s seat where Steve was hunched over the wheel. His shoulders were tight and his grip on the steering wheel was bordering on deadly. His ears perked up at the sound of her movement, and for a brief second their eyes met in the rearview mirror. His gaze was icy as he scowled and looked away.

“Welcome back to the land of the living.” His voice was near glacial. Sharon blinked and looked down at her hands, taking in the broken nails and dirt embedded beneath the nail beds. She wrung her fingers as she opened her mouth, her voice raspy due to the smoke inhalation and lack of water.

“Steve, I-"

“I don’t want to hear it,” the Avenger interrupted his face an impenetrable mask.

“I didn’t mean to-"

“What?” he questioned, his eyes blazing as he glared back at her. “Didn’t mean to lie to me? All you’ve ever done is lie to me.”

He shook his head and set his angry gaze back on the empty road ahead of them. They were on a highway and outside it was darkness and shadows amidst the beams of streetlights. It was either really late at night or very early in the morning.

“All this time,” he muttered, more to himself than her. “All this time you’ve been Peggy’s niece. You let me talk about her with you. Every time you knew something about me, something personal, and you let me believe it was from a documentary or book. This whole time you were lying to me!”

She flinched as his voice rose sharply in the tight confines of the truck and quickly looked away, unable to see the fire in his blue eyes directed so fiercely at her.

He was hurting and she was the direct cause of it. All she had ever done was try to protect him, have his back. And look where it had gotten her. 

His harsh laughter echoed throughout the truck as he shook his head in disbelief. “What, was it some kind of joke to you? Did you and Romanoff laugh about it behind my back?”

“No!” she interjected desperately as she sat forward. “Steve, it was never a joke-"

“Then what was it?” he demanded to know, his eyes looking at her un-movingly through the rearview mirror.

She stared back at him and licked her parched lips nervously. She was so tired, the near-death experience and the emotional fallout of learning about Hydra and SHIELD were too much for her frail body to overcome. She wanted to curl up into a ball somewhere and not move for several days.

But she didn’t have the luxury of that.

She glanced up at Rogers and tried to maintain eye contact. “I was just…doing my job.”

Rogers snorted and refused to look at her. She felt her heart drop to the pit of her stomach and it hurt to breathe as she stared down at her dirty hands. Her mind drifted back to SHIELD, or what SHIELD truly was and her heart broke even further, splintering into hundreds of unrepairable pieces.

“Steve,” she whispered brokenly before steeling herself for the task at hand. “Hydra is going to try and kill a lot of people.”

“I know that,” the super-soldier snapped from the front, his body rigid.

“What are we going to do?” she asked hopelessly. Rogers squared his jaw, his lips thinning as he stared determinedly ahead.

“We’re going to stop them.”

 

* * *

 

 

The sun was just ascending into the sky when the two found themselves back where everything had started: Washington, D.C. The sky was vibrant with hues of pink, orange and yellow. The streets were quiet, traffic was minimal and it was days like these Sharon loved best, but her body was numb to the landscape outside as she sat stiffly in the passenger seat.

It had been hours since she and Steve had last spoken. She had eventually pulled herself into the passenger seat and Rogers had carelessly tossed her a water bottle and a granola bar. She hadn’t wanted either but forced both down her throat.

While he may have been silent, his anger was palpable, vibrating off his body in every direction. Whatever plan he had about taking down three massive helicarriers, he was keeping it to himself. Sharon couldn’t find it in herself to blame him.

She had royally fucked up and now everything was completely ruined between them. Any bridges that had been building up between the pair were scorched to the earth now. It was worse than anything she could have ever envisioned.

Honestly, everything had been ruined for a long time. For as long as SHIELD had really been Hydra in sheep’s clothing.

She pushed away the troubling thoughts. They were so dark and consuming that if she went down that black hole, she’d never come back up. She bit her lip hard enough to bleed, but the pain allowed her to not think about SHIELD and Hydra, if only for a moment.

Steve was driving the truck slowly, almost as if he was searching for something as they lapped the Tidal Basin for the second time.

She opened her mouth and ignored the look he shot her. “So, where are we going to go? All of my safe houses were on record, so they’re out. Do you have anything?”

She doubted it. It would never occur to Rogers to have safe houses or contingency plans of any kind. He had never fit the spy mold the way she and Natasha did. He glanced at her before looking ahead, his eyes latching onto something off in the distance.

“I have an idea of somewhere safe we can go.”

She followed his gaze and saw a jogger a few feet ahead. It took her a moment to realize it was the same man Rogers had been conversing with when she had picked him up for the _Lemurian Star_ mission. God, didn’t that feel like a lifetime ago?

She raised an eyebrow in disbelief as she leveled Rogers with a thoroughly unimpressed look. “Are you serious right now? Your jogging buddy? Really?”

“He can help us,” Steve insisted, not even batting an eye at her incredulity.

“How? By making us breakfast?” she snappily retorted/ “Rogers, we need somewhere safe where we can regroup and more importantly get some weapons.”

They’d need weapons if they had any hope of going up against SHIELD, Hydra, whatever the hell it was. Even then, they were laughably outnumbered. Where were the Avengers when you needed them? 

“Do you have any better ideas?” Steve testily countered and looked vindictive when Sharon remained silent.

“That’s what I thought." He nodded to himself, satisfied. "Sam is our best bet.”

Sharon huffed and sank back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest. “Fine, but I don’t like it.”

“Noted.”

The man could win a gold medal in sarcasm.

They two trailed Sam Wilson, keeping a safe distance as the former para-rescue jogged away from the Mall to a sleepy Southwest neighborhood, coming to a stop before a small, bachelor pad abode.

Rogers parked the truck several houses away and the two surveyed the street, finding it empty in the early morning light. They were quick to cross the street and vaulted through Wilson’s meager backyard, coming up to the deck and knocking at his slider door. The blinders were down but opened, revealing a very befuddled VA counselor. He opened the slider door and took in the sight of the two battered and grimy ex-SHIELD agents.

He looked between Steve and Sharon before setting his gaze on Steve.

“Hey, man,” he greeted slowly as if debating whether or not he was on an episode of _Punk’d_.

“I’m sorry to do this,” Steve began earnestly with tense eyes. “We need a place to lay low.”

“Everyone we know is trying to kill us,” Sharon added bluntly, ignoring Rogers’ affronted look. They were on a limited time table here, they didn’t have time for niceties. Her words must have done something for Wilson because he was quick to jump into action.

“Not everyone,” he opened the door wide for them and allowed them to slip inside. He shut and locked the slider down, lowering the blinds before he turned towards the pair. They were woefully out of place standing in his kitchen, reeking of smoke and looking like they had stumbled out of a collapsed building (he didn’t know how right he was).

But don’t let it ever be said that Mrs. Wilson hadn’t taught her only son on how to be a consummate host.

He turned to Sharon with a curious expression. “And you are?”

“This is…” Steve cut himself off, unable to say her name now that he knew the truth. Sharon sighed and held out her hand to shake.

“I’m Sharon Carter.”

Wilson shook her hand and raised an eyebrow in surprise, before glancing furtively at Steve.

“As in…?”

“She’s my aunt,” Sharon cut in, knowing where that particular line of questioning was going. Best to just get it out in the open. Clean slate and all that.

“Interesting,” Wilson surmised.

“Isn’t it?” Steve asked bitingly as Sharon shot him a dark look. She opened her mouth to argue, but Sam, knowing a squabble when he saw one, quickly jumped in.

“Down the hall on the left is my bedroom, it has an ensuite and everything. Why don’t you two go and clean yourselves up? You can tell me all about this killing business after. Sound good?”

After a moment the two blondes nodded and shuffled down the narrow hallway to Sam’s bedroom. It wasn’t much, but it worked for a single man.

“Ladies first,” Rogers gruffly offered and Sharon wasted no time in slipping into the cramped bathroom. She shut the door behind her and locked it. She shakily walked up to the vanity and peered at herself in the mirror.

It wasn’t a pretty sight.

Soot was smudged across her face and in the morning daylight, she could see an impressive array of bruises and cuts scattered across her body, joining the wounds she had already sustained on the _Lemurian Star._ Her body was a tapestry of ghastly purple and blue blemishes.

She unsteadily reached forward, turning the tap on hot as water poured out of the sink faucet. She grabbed a face towel and submerged it into the water, wringing it out before brushing it over her skin. She pressed hard, wiping away the ashes until her skin was raw.

Soon the towel was stained black, but she looked somewhat human again. She was wiping soot out of her hair, desperate to get rid of the strong stench of smoke that permeated her nose.

It was quiet in the bathroom. Rogers was silent on the other side of the door.

It was her first moments alone to really process everything that had happened in the last 24 hours. She lowered the towel and stared down at her shaking hands. When had that started? Why hadn’t she noticed? She tried to stop it, but the tremors just grew stronger and spread across her body.

Her breath caught in her throat as she lurched forward against the vanity, struggling to hold on.

SHIELD was Hydra. It had always been Hydra. The agency Peggy had built from the ground up, the organization she had given her life to, it was all for nothing.

Sharon sucked in a breath as her heart began racing erratically, nearly coming out of her chest. She gripped the vanity until her knuckles were white but it did nothing to stop the tumult of thoughts crashing within her.

She felt dizzy and her vision began blacking out at the edges of her peripheries. She couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t she breathe? Why was it so hard to just _breathe?_

All Sharon had ever wanted to be was an agent of SHIELD. It had been her longest dream, the one thing she had always wanted more than anything else. They were supposed to be the good guys.

It was all a lie.

Her life was a lie.

She knelt down, wrapping her arms around her legs as she buried her face in her knees to stop the painful sobbing.

The cries wracked her body but she refused to cry aloud. She held it in, tucking her fear and despair back into her body, not allowing it to escape.

A single knock pulled her out of her spiraling breakdown. She snapped her head up and could hear the water rushing out of the faucet and the pounding of blood in her ears.

Right, she was in Sam Wilson’s bathroom.

This wasn’t the time for an absolute meltdown. She had a mission to complete. And the mission always came first, feelings be damned. 

“Thirteen?” Steve questioned from across the door as she wiped her nose, wrinkling it at the sight of snot on her hand. She wiped it off with her towel as she quickly stood and hastily scrubbed at her eyes, hoping their redness wouldn’t be noticed by Rogers.

“Everything good in there?” he asked.

She hoped he hadn’t heard her falling apart in here. She’d never recover from that.

“All good,” she called out cheerfully, turning off the sink and going to the door. She opened it and saw him standing there, taking in the sight of her.

“Sorry I took so long,” she murmured, slipping past him and plopping down onto Wilson’s bed. Steve glanced back at her for a moment, his face inscrutable, before he wandered into the bathroom and began cleaning himself off. He had stripped out of the hoodie and t-shirt, leaving him in a white muscle tank. Any other day, Sharon would take a moment to admire his arms which were so freely on display, but she didn’t have the heart for it as she continued working the damp towel through her hair.

Rogers took all of ten minutes to get back to looking like an Abercrombie model as he sauntered out of the bathroom and looked at Sharon.

Suddenly the tension that had been existing between the two of them since the reveal of her name came roaring back as the two regarded one another cautiously, not knowing what to say or do.

She hated it. And it couldn’t remain if they were going to take down Hydra together. They needed to be in sync like they had always been out in the field. He could hate her all he wanted to, he just needed to work with her.

“Are we going to talk about it?” she asked listlessly as Rogers busied himself with doing anything that didn’t involve looking at her for longer than a glancing second.

“Talk about what?” he parried darkly. “The fact you’ve been lying to me the entire time I’ve known you?”

His tone was as hard as marble, but she knew it was just his way of masking his deep-seated pain. He was angry because he had been opening up to her, trusting her, and she had thrown it right back in his face.

“You have to understand-" she began before being harshly cut off.

“What do I have to understand?” Rogers demanded. “You had a choice to be honest with me, and you didn’t take it.” He was agitated as he began pacing back and forth in the limited space he had. Sharon felt her own blood boiling as she glared back at the super soldier.

“It wasn’t about you!”

Rogers scoffed as he locked eyes with her. “Then what was it about?”

Sharon deflated before looking away, picking at her distressed denim jeans as she sat at the foot of Sam’s bed.

“Look,” she began, gazing up at the Avenger. “Less than ten people at SHIELD know my name is Sharon, even fewer than that know I’m a Carter.”

Steve blinked at this admission, his anger momentarily defusing, as he placed his hands on his hips.

“Why?” he asked, his face puzzled.

“Because I didn’t want my career defined by being Peggy Carter’s great-niece!” Sharon proclaimed before turning away, curling in on her herself dejectedly.

“I wanted to prove myself on my own,” she whispered. “I didn’t even use Carter when I was in the Academy. I applied as Sharon Reynolds, my mother’s maiden name. And then I became Agent 13 and suddenly most everyone didn’t know my name. But everything I’ve achieved in SHIELD…as little as it matters now, I achieved on my own merit, by being the best agent I could be.”

Throughout her speech, Rogers’ body had minutely relaxed, the tension beginning to drain away. His eyebrows furrowed as he watched her, but he allowed himself to take a seat next to her on the bed, keeping his distance but turning to face her fully.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” he inquired quietly, his face no longer clouded with fury. Now he was just seeking the honest to God truth.

Sharon bit her lip, looking away before surprisingly announcing, “Because I like you!”

Both were bewildered by the declaration as she blushed and hastily backtracked.

“I mean, as a person. I like you. And you, well…” she chuckled weakly as she played with her fingers. “You didn’t like me at first, let’s not beat around the bush. Once you saw me at the Triskelion for the first time, I was Undesirable No. 1 those first few months.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to lie to me,” he sternly reprimanded as she nodded quickly, twiddling her thumbs.

“No, it doesn’t. But, then you did start to like me. And things turned around, we worked well together, we were… _friendly_ , at the very least. I knew that would go away if I told you the truth. I knew you’d react…like how you’re acting now.”

“You don’t know that,” he was quick to respond as Sharon mirthlessly chuckled, tucking a strand of damp hair behind her ear.

“Oh please, Rogers. You can be rather unforgiving.”

Rogers really had nothing to say to that. He sat up straight as he insisted, “It wasn’t your call to make.”

Sharon looked into his eyes, not backing down as she confessed, “I know that, and if I could go back and do it differently, I would. There’s a lot of things I’d change. But I can’t. And…the last two years, I’ve enjoyed working with you.”

Rogers quirked an eyebrow skeptically. “So that makes up for everything?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Sharon sighed as she cracked her knuckles nervously. “But as a spy lying is second nature, but I need you to know that lying to you was not something I took any joy in. And there’s not a day that’s gone by that I haven’t hated doing it.”

Rogers looked at her for a long moment, looking to see if there were any lies lurking in the depths of her eyes. When he couldn’t detect any, he allowed himself to relax for the first time since he had learned her secret. Sharon bit her lip as she hopefully asked, “So, are we good? At least for right now?”

Steve pretended to think long and hard about it if only to give her a hard time before holding his hand out to her.

“We’re good, partner.”

Sharon shook back. She knew that this wasn’t the end and that he hadn’t fully forgiven her. But he was willing to work with her, and that’s all she could ask for.

The two looked up as Sam popped his head in the doorway.

“I made breakfast,” he announced, eyeing the two warily. “If you guys…eat that sort of thing.” He ducked out again, allowing Sharon and Steve to exchange knowing looks as they moved to the kitchen.

Luckily for all of them, Wilson had the foresight to accommodate a super-soldier appetite as Rogers heartily dug into mounds of pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon. Sharon gulped down coffee as she ate her own fill of food, she hadn’t eaten a full meal since the night Fury died.

Once breakfast was out of the way, the brainstorming began. Sam watched the pair from his perch at the counter as he cleaned up. Sharon was pacing, working better when she was on her feet, as Rogers remained seated at the round table.

“So,” Sharon began as she pivoted on her heel. “The question is: who in SHIELD could launch a domestic missile strike?”

Steve sat up straight as the answer hit him. “Pierce.”

Sharon nodded as she thought the problem over. “Who happens to be sitting on top of the most secure building in the world.”

With Steve at a Level One and Sharon most likely up there now there was no way they could just walk through the front doors of the Triskelion and demand an audience with the World Security Council Secretary.

“But he's not working alone,” Steve interjected. “Zola's algorithm was on the _Lemurian Star_.”

Sharon blinked as she realized who else had been on the _Lemurian Star._ “So was Jasper Sitwell.”

Sitwell, the son of a bitch. She had never liked him. 

Realization came across Rogers’ face as his brain began firing off. “So, the real question is: how do the two most wanted people in Washington kidnap a SHIELD officer in broad daylight?”

“The answer is,” Sam interrupted as he stepped up to the table and dropped a file in front of Steve. “You don't.”

Steve raised an eyebrow before opening the file and flipping through it as Sharon leaned in close, reading over his shoulder.

“What’s this?” the Avenger asked, glancing up at Sam questioningly.

“Call it a resume,” the man responded, a grin growing on his face. Sharon tilted towards Steve as she lifted a photo and examined it. It was of Wilson and his para-rescue team in some kind of specialized armor that she had never seen before.

“Is this Bakhmala?” she asked with wide eyes. “The Khalid Khandil mission, that was you,” she said in an excited voice. She would have never guess Rogers’ jogging buddy would be involved in special ops. But really, knowing Rogers, it wasn’t that surprising. The man attracted trouble.

“You didn’t tell me how cool he was,” she admonished Rogers, who was gazing at a photo of Sam and another man, both beaming in the bright sunlight. Steve locked eyes with Sam as he softly inquired,

“Is this Riley?”

Sam momentarily deflated into himself before steadying himself and nodding, a sad glimmer in his dark eyes.

Sharon raised an eyebrow at this but got the men back to business as she asked, “I heard they couldn't bring in the choppers because of the RPGs. What did you use, a stealth chute?”

Sam grinned as he reached for the file and opened it to a specific page.

“No. These.” The two blondes were more than surprised as they took in the photos. It was some kind of flying contraption, looking more like a pair of metallic wings than anything else. Sharon had to admit, they were a thing of beauty.

“I thought you said you were a pilot,” Steve grumbled as he looked up at Sam. The VA counselor just grinned playfully back.

“I never said a pilot.”

Steve looked heavily back down at the file. “I can't ask you to do this, Sam. You got out for a good reason.”

Sam rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Dude, Captain America needs my help. There's no better reason to get back in.”

Sam was officially Sharon’s new favorite person. She smiled and nodded as Steve looked towards her. They were going to need all the help they could get.

“Where can we get our hands on one of these things?” Steve asked, now fully resigned to Sam being a part of this imminent trainwreck.

“The last one is at Fort Meade, behind three guarded gates and a twelve-inch steel wall,” Sam stated grimly, thinking the wings were out of his reach.

He clearly just wasn’t friends with the right kind of people. Steve glanced at Sharon who shrugged easily. Really, in the spectrum of things they were planning to do today and the amount of shit about to fit the fan, breaking into Fort Meade to break out Sam’s wings was only about a four.

“No problem,” Steve nonchalantly replied as Sharon clapped her hands together.

“Excellent, let’s get planning,” she said to the two as Sam beamed.

“Great. Where do you need me?”

Sharon turned to Sam, confused. She looked to Rogers who only shrugged and left it to her. Traitor.

“Oh. Um. You know, this is more of a two person job, Sam. Once I take out the security system and jam their computers, it’ll be a cakewalk. And the wall stands no chance against Rogers, he’s a tank. So, I think we got this.”

The former para-rescue full on pouted at her. “You can’t seriously be sidelining me right now. I get I’m not a super-soldier or a spy, but I’m damn helpful.”

“Of course you are!” she exclaimed in an appeasing manner. “And we need your help. In fact, I have an assignment for you that is vital to the task at hand. Without it, we can’t move forward.”

Sam’s excitement grew as he held out his arms and rubbed his hands together, a dimple popping in his left cheek.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about. Lay it on me.”

“I need you to go shopping. Clothes shopping, to be specific.”

“What,” he said, blinking. Sharon nodded as she gestured to the millennial getup she and Rogers were currently sporting.

“Yep, I mean look at us. We can’t take down Hydra and save the world in these clothes. Look at Rogers’ shoes, they’re ridiculous.”

“You told me they looked fine,” the super-soldier said, frowning as he looked down at his brightly covered feet.

Sharon rolled her eyes. “Semantic, Rogers. They were perfect for blending in, not for kicking Nazi ass. Here, I have a list and everything.”

She pulled it out of her jeans pocket and handed it to Sam, who sullenly took it, feeling more like a glorified errand boy than anything else.

“With shoes, I’m typically a seven, but with boots I run closer to eight, so just get an eight to be safe. And while I admire Rogers in tight-fitting jeans, he’s a bit rattled right now with the whole ‘dying for a lie’ crisis, so I suggest khakis. They’re his safe place.”

“Unbelievable,” Sam muttered under his breath as he pocketed the list.

Steve cleared his throat. “Now that we have that settled, are we ready to get to work?”

And so they did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam is in the house! Where would Blonde Squared be without Sam? Now they can be the S Club. 
> 
> Thank you so much for the previous reviews! They without fail always make me smile. All of you are so, so awesome. Don't let anyone else ever tell you otherwise. 
> 
> Pic time!
> 
> Young Sharon:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/25932121348/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Sharon's outfit in flashback:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/25932114138/in/dateposted-public/)


	7. I Rose up from the Dead, I Do It All the Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A metal arm. A red star.
> 
> The Winter Soldier.
> 
> The ghost was real.

**_April 3 rd, 2014_ **

**_Fort Meade_ **

****

“Inconspicuous, my ass.”

Sharon couldn’t help but mutter to herself as she stalked down the hallway, leaving a trail of unconscious military guards in her wake. What was meant to be a simple in-and-out operation was quickly turning into anything but. At least Steve had cut the wailing alarm that had been blaring a few minutes ago.

Hopefully, not everyone at the base had heard that. If they did…well, things were going to get interesting.

Sharon ducked down as she turned a corner, making her way to the control center of the fort where she would disable the gates leading to Sam’s wings. Steve would take care of everything else. She felt a tad silly, venturing around in the same jeans and bomber jacket she had been wearing for the last few days. She would do anything to be in her familiar tactical suit, but alas, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

She poked her head around a corner and was relieved to see that this particular hallway was devoid of life. She crept along stealthily, not making a sound as she avoided every camera point she could. Better to not let them know she was coming for them.

She smiled triumphantly as she finally came to the main hub of the fort, the place which controlled all of the cameras and security apparatuses. She stood outside the closed door for a moment, gathering her bearings as she formulated a plan for maximum efficiency.

All she needed to do was subdue everyone in that room. Sounded easy enough. Would be better if she had a gun on her, but she’d make do. She cracked her neck, getting her head in the zone before springing into action.

She kicked down the door and it gave in easily, exposing a room of surprised computer techs. They were a sorry lot of individuals, middle-aged, overweight, and looking like they hadn’t seen the light of day in the last decade. Well-meaning types who were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. She almost felt bad about doing what she needed to do. But she needed those wings.

“Hello,” she announced breathlessly as they all stared at her with wide, gaping mouths. Sharon rolled her eyes as she shrugged apologetically to this ragtag group.

“Before we begin, let me just say, don’t be a hero. It’ll only make this worse.”

Nobody moved.

Sharon sighed but got down to business. She launched herself over a computer consul, landing right in front of a shocked technician. Without pausing she slammed his head down into the keyboard and he was out flat. She lunged for his next-door neighbor and a swift right hook to the cheek took out that poor soul as well.

She jumped up and took down two more easily, the bodies hitting the ground with audible thuds and crunches. She winced in sympathy. She knew that had to hurt. She stood among the debris of the room as she glanced around.

Huh, she could have sworn that there had been five people in here.

Proving her theory correct, one of the techs, who had stayed hidden throughout the ambush by cowering beneath his desk, leaped up and took a running start for the door. Sharon sighed as she watched him run. She reached for the nearest rolling, office chair and picking it up with a heave, chucked it at the backside of the running man. It nailed him perfectly in the back and he went tumbling down face first into the linoleum floor.

Sharon stood tense, waiting for any more surprises but after a long, quiet moment she knew she was truly alone in the room. Moving quickly she went to the door, locking and barricading it in case unexpected company attempted to drop in. With that complete, she pivoted on her heel and marched to the computer consoles, and looked down at the massive system. With a sigh and a crack of her knuckles, she set to work. Typing quickly she hacked into the fort’s system and began creating chaos.

In the west wing, she set off all the fire alarms and water systems. That would keep security busy for a while. She brought up the security cameras and looked at where Rogers was lurking, waiting for her signal. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her comm and jammed it into her ear, activating the communication device.

“We are a go,” she announced to dear air as she continued working on the computer system.

 _“What took you so long?”_ Steve replied dryly. _“I was worried another 70 years had passed.”_

Why did she like this asshole again?

“Hardy-har-har,” she responded as she typed away. She smiled triumphantly when she cracked their code. A screen popped up, highlighting the first guarded gate Steve would have to get through to reach Sam’s wings. With a few clicks of her fingers, the gate opened with a beep, alarming the guards on site.

“Gate 1 is open. Your time to shine, big guy.”

Rogers didn’t disappoint. Sharon watched in amusement as Steve’s shield came flying out of nowhere, knocking both unsuspecting guards out immediately. He swooped in, ridiculous sneakers and all, as he did a fancy turn flip in order to retrieve his shield.

Sharon was less than impressed with the smooth display of his physical prowess.

“Showoff,” she muttered, knowing he’d hear her through the comm.

 _“How we looking on Gate 2?”_ he asked, ignoring her jibe as he jogged forward, the second gate only a few hundred yards ahead.

“Working on it,” she answered back as she continued hacking. Just as Rogers came upon the gate, hiding by the corner of it, she got through the system.

“Gate 2 is a go.”

This time, Rogers went for stealth mode when taking out the two armed guards. When one had his back to the Avenger, he sprung as nimble as a tiger, catching the man around the neck and using his super strength to subdue him within seconds. He dropped him to the ground just as the other guard turned, wide-eyed at the sight of Rogers’ imposing presence. Steve disarmed him quickly and knocked him out, possibly breaking the man’s arm in the process.

Rogers moved quickly through the open fence as Sharon worked on Gate 3. She had it opened within seconds and Rogers just as seamlessly took out the guards there. Sharon brought up the screen of the twelve-inch steel wall Sam had described.

“I’ll leave the wall to you,” Sharon said to Steve. “I’ll be there in the minute.”

_“Don’t leave me waiting.”_

Sharon couldn’t help but smirk as she continued typing away. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Rogers may still be angry with her and he may not fully trust her, but she had to admit, working with him knowing who she was, what her name was, was satisfying in a way their two years of partnership at SHIELD hadn’t been. She could hear it in the way he spoke to her through the comm, he wasn’t holding back with her. He had his eye on the mission, but he was bantering with her, his sarcastic sense of humor coming through clearly. He was being a bit of an ass really, but she secretly loved it.

This is what she had been wanting in their team-ups for nearly two years. She wanted a connection with the man and she finally had one now that that final barrier between them had been all but demolished. Who knew Hydra could actually be useful?

Pushing that strange thought away, Sharon continued working on the computer system as she hacked into the security cameras and dismantled them, wiping all of today’s footage. Now she and Rogers would be the ghosts, appearing and disappearing without leaving a trace. Once that was finished, she did a preliminary check of the hallways and upon finding them empty, made her way to Steve’s position.

When she arrived moments later, the steel wall was completely torn apart, leaving a gaping hole for her to slink through. She whistled lowly as she walked into the highly advanced armory that not only housed Sam’s wings but a fine arsenal of other weapons.

“Wow,” she murmured aloud as she came up to Steve’s side. He was staring ahead, looking at what could only be the Falcon jetpack. It was a beautiful piece of machinery in hues of metallic chrome.

“Yeah,” Steve readily agreed. “They are a beauty.”

He turned and upon spying a duffle bag, tugged down the wings and gingerly packed them away. As he was doing this Sharon toured the armory and picked up a few trinkets of her own. She easily hid several pistols on her person, shoving magazine clips into every available pocket. Her eyes lit up as she passed a table and found an armored gauntlet just sitting there.

She held it up and spied something fascinating. Embedded into the gauntlet was a retractable grappling hook. Now that could be useful.

“Ooh,” she whispered approvingly as she strapped the gauntlet to her right-hand wrist. “Momma likes this.”

“You done?” Steve questioned from behind as she turned to him with a magnanimous smile.

“After you,” she gestured for the super soldier to lead them. He did with a good-natured huff as they snuck out of the military base as sneakily as they had entered. They quickly piled up their treasures in their stolen Silverado before hightailing it out of there. They made their way quickly back to DC.

“Do you have a lock on Sitwell’s position?” 

Sharon was tinkering with her SHIELD cellphone, fighting its malware as she jerry-rigged her way into tracking Sitwell’s cellphone.

“Aha,” she hummed jubilantly. “Our dear Sitwell seems to be enjoying his lunch hour at the Occidental.”

Steve nodded from the driver’s seat, one hand on the steering wheel as he tilted his head towards her.

“Text Sam, tell him to meet us there; a few blocks from the restaurant.”

Sharon acknowledged the order with a bob of her head and a minute later a text was fired off to their newest ally. He responded back quickly, sending only the thumbs up emoji. Sharon couldn’t help but chuckle as it popped up. She ignored Rogers’ perplexed look and leaned back into her seat, enjoying the peaceful moment.

Soon enough everything would go to shit, as it always did for the two of them. They would need their game faces on soon if they had any chance of getting into the Triskelion to halt the launching of the Insight helicarriers. They had less than a day to get it done or…terrible things would happen.

The pair remained silent as Steve maneuvered the truck through the bustling streets of DC. It was risky, what they were doing, the Occidental was located practically at the doorsteps of the White House. It really was one of the worst places for the two of them to be caught publically with such high prices on their heads.

Luckily for them, they had Sam.

Soon enough the two were in position, having ditched the Silverado several blocks away. They were standing casually on the street, Steve with his cap on and bowed head as he kept his back to passing pedestrians. Sharon leaned against the wall, tapping away at her cellphone as she kept a careful eye out for Sam.

Fortunately for them, they didn’t have to wait long. Sam pulled up alongside the curb in his dusky Impala. He beeped the horn once as both blondes pushed up from the brick wall and moved nonchalantly towards the sedan.

“Did you get the goods?” Sam asked, excitement whirling in his dark eyes as Rogers soundlessly held up the duffle bag like this was some kind of drug deal. Sam looked like he had died and gone to heaven as he stared longingly at his wings.

“What about you?” Sharon asked. “Did you complete your part of the mission?”

Sam only rolled his eyes as he popped his trunk and ambled out of his car. He led the two ex-SHIELD agents to the rear where several shopping bags were awaiting them. Sharon nosed through them before nodding approvingly to Sam.

“You have good taste,” was all she said as she pulled out the bags. Steve placed the wings and his shield in Sam’s trunk, shutting it behind them. He nodded once to Sharon and she whipped out her SHIELD cell phone, pushing it into Sam’s hands.

“This is Jasper Sitwell,” she intoned matter-of-factly as a picture of the agent appeared on her phone screen.

“He’s enjoying lunch at the Occidental. He’s been there for nearly two hours, so he must be leaving soon. I’ve rigged the phone with a cloaking system, so when you call him, he will think he’s talking to Alexander Pierce. I imagine he’ll answer.”

Sam nodded as he slipped the phone into the pocket of his leather jacket. Steve then jumped into the conversation.

“Sharon and I will be waiting in the building across the street, bring him to us and wait in the wings. You know what to do.”

“Ain’t no thang,” Sam responded and Sharon had to bite down on her lip to stop from snorting. Man, where had Sam been all their lives? Steve only sighed, a pensive look crossing his face as he regarded his jogging buddy.

“You sure you want to do this?” he inquired almost guiltily. “You don’t owe us anything.”

“Man,” Sam interjected with a hint of frustration brewing in his eyes. “If I don’t and those freaky, flying carriers of yours kills everyone on the eastern seaboard, I’ll never be able to live with myself. I may not be an Avenger, but this is as much my fight as it is yours.”

Steve, mollified by Sam’s unyielding conviction, only nodded once before turning towards Sharon.

“Time to get in position.”

“And get dressed,” she gestured to her ratty, mall clothes that still reeked of smoke. With one final look between the three unlikely partners, the trio got to work. Sam slunk off towards the Occidental as Sharon and Steve crept towards the apartment building. They kept their heads down as they entered, avoiding any possible street cameras along the way.

Dividing up their shopping bags they disappeared into their respective public restrooms. Sharon barricaded herself in a stall as she quickly stripped out of the ripped jeans and a loose t-shirt. Sam really did have good taste, Sharon mused as she shimmied into a pair of dark skinny jeans. She threw on a black tank top and slipped into a stylish and form-fitting slate, suede moto-jacket. She zipped it up as well as buckling the belt so that it outlined her trim waist. She slid into her new pair of black, knee-high boots. She wandered out of the stall, taking one look at herself in the mirror.

She didn’t look half bad. Definitely a good outfit for saving the world in.

Pulling out a spare hair tie, she quickly assembled her hair up into a high ponytail, as her blonde locks fell down her back. She took in her appearance a final time before departing the bathroom, her assortment of weapons and SHIELD gadgets expertly hidden on her person.

Steve was waiting for her, leaning against the opposite wall with arms crossed over his broad chest. He had cleaned up nicely in a pair of khakis, a navy shirt, and jacket. He had even swapped out his turquoise sneakers for a more subtle form of footwear.

“C’mon,” he nodded towards the elevator. “Sitwell’s on the move.”

They took the elevator up to the highest floor and made their way towards the maintenance entrance to the roof. They stood on the roof, the sun shining down upon them, as they watched the comings and goings of the Occidental. Sharon was holding a high powered pair of binoculars as Steve stood beside her, his vision sharp enough that he didn’t need them.

They watched as Sitwell, flanked by bodyguards, emerged from the high-end restaurant, walking alongside an older man. Sharon vaguely recognized him as one of the leading senators that hated Tony Stark. Not that it narrowed down the list by much, practically all of Congress hated Tony Stark and his infuriating ego. 

“Who’s that?” Steve asked from beside her, eyes narrowed with focused intent. He was in clear mission mode.

“Senator Stern, I believe,” Sharon chimed in after a moment as she watched through the binoculars.

Steve's brows furrowed thoughtfully. “Wasn’t he the man who tried to force Stark into handing over his suits to the government a few years back?”

“Yep,” Sharon popped the ‘p.’ Steve scowled, a pinched look settling across his face.

“Hydra just has their tentacles everywhere, don’t they?” The disgust was evident in his tone.

“Well,” Sharon mused as she lowered her binoculars to share a look with the Avenger. “You know what they say. Cut off one head…”

“Yeah,” Rogers all but snarled. “I know.”

Sharon frowned thoughtfully and considered saying something. But really, what could one say? Everything Steve had thought he died for had been a lie. He believed that he had eradicated Hydra from the world 70 years ago and here they were, stronger than ever, making a mockery of the organization Peggy had built.

Not knowing what to say, not knowing if she could make it better for him, she only exhaled and turned back towards the Occidental. She tuned in just in time to watch Senator Stern walk away and Sitwell accept an incoming phone call. His two lackeys faded away at his command as he answered his phone. Both Sharon's and Steve’s comms came to life as they listened in.

 _“Yes, sir?”_ Sitwell’s slimy voice echoed in their ears.

 _“Agent Sitwell,”_ Sam cut in smoothly. _“How was lunch? I hear the crab cakes here are delicious.”_

“He’s good,” Sharon acknowledged. Steve nodded from beside her.

“He’s very good.”

They watched as Sitwell’s face shuttered with suspicion.

 _“Who is this?”_ Sitwell asked urgently, his face turned down with a frown.

_“The good looking guy in the sunglasses, your ten o’clock.”_

Sitwell turned, his eyes raking across the crowd. Unfortunately for him, he was looking at his four o’clock. Sharon and Steve were less than kind about this technical blunder.

“Idiot.”

“Dumbass.”

 _“Your other ten o’clock,”_ Sam suggested helpfully as Sitwell finally placed his eyes on the former para-rescue.

 _“There you go,”_ Sam held up a mimosa in greeting from across the plaza, eyes hidden behind his aviator sunglasses.

 _“What do you want?”_ Sitwell asked, eyes steely, gaze locked with Sam’s.

 _“You’re going to go around the corner, to your right,”_ Sam ordered. _“There’s a grey car, two spaces down. You and I are gonna take a ride.”_

Sitwell scoffed openly as Sharon pulled a laser out of her pocket and held it out to Steve.

“Care to do the honors?”

Steve grinned as he took it from her. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

 _“And why would I do that?”_ Sitwell asked snidely, clearing not knowing a threat when it hit him. Steve aimed the laser, finger ready to press down.

_“Because that tie looks really expensive and I’d hate to mess it up.”_

Sitwell glanced down just in time to see a bright, red dot right at the center of his designer tie. Steve had a smirk stretched across his face as he aimed the small device. Sitwell gulped noticeably before looking at Sam, fear evident in his eyes as he nodded his head. Sitwell walked towards the intended direction as Sam stood and followed him.

“Showtime,” Sharon announced as she tossed aside the binoculars. She spun on her heel and headed towards the door, Steve trailing along beside her.

“Don’t rough him up too badly,” he jokingly cautioned as Sharon threw a saucy grin over her shoulder.

“I make no promises.” She disappeared through the doorway, heading down the stairs to the top floor of the apartment complex. She waited by the elevators and was rewarded when a few minutes later one set of doors opened, revealing Sitwell and Sam.

Sharon’s smile turned positively feral as she locked eyes with the SHIELD handler. She immensely enjoyed the way they widened as soon as they saw her.

“Hello, Sitwell,” she greeted cheerfully. The man gasped audibly as Sam all but shoved him out of the elevator. Sharon turned towards the VA counselor with a grin.

“Thank you, Sam. I can take it from here.”

“No problem for me,” Sam responded conversationally. “The man doesn’t know how to make small talk.”

He pulled her SHIELD phone from out of his pocket and handed it to her wordlessly. She took it with a smile.

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” she remarked as she turned towards Sitwell, who was cowering in the empty hallway. Her smile turned wicked. “I’m sure he’ll talk to me.”

“You won’t get me to reveal anything!” the handler spat as Sharon pouted.

“Oh, but, Sitwell,” she batted her eyes. “I thought we were friends.”

“Bite me, Thirteen!”

Sharon only pushed the man forward as a pistol emerged from her backside, already loaded and ready to go. She aimed it at Sitwell’s head and watched with amusement as sweat began pooling across his forehead.

With a charming grin, she turned towards Sam. “I think I have it from here. See you around, Sam.”

She left Sam with a purposeful wink and roughly propelled Sitwell forward, towards the roof.

“C’mon, Sitwell,” she cajoled mockingly. “The Captain wants to speak with you.”

The color drained from Sitwell’s rat-like face as she prodded him up the stairs towards the roof’s entrance. Right where Steve was waiting for them.

“Sitwell,” Steve acknowledged as soon as the SHIELD agent was close enough. In a flash, he had reached out, grabbed Sitwell by the lapels of his suit jacket and was unceremoniously flinging him through the door.

Sitwell went flying and hit the rooftop with a grunt as he rolled across the gravel. Sharon and Steve came sauntering out of the door, marching towards the downed man side by side.

“Tell me about Zola’s algorithm,” Steve ordered sternly, completely businesslike as they stalked towards Sitwell.

“Never heard of it,” Sitwell retorted as he struggled to his feet, pushing his glasses up his nose securely.

“Why were you on the _Lemurian Star?”_

They kept advancing on Sitwell and he kept retreating, moving closer and closer to the edge of the roof. It’d be a far drop to the bottom if he were to fall.

“I was throwing up,” Sitwell retorted smartly as he kept stepping back. “I get seasick.”

Sitwell took one step too far and floundered over the edge of the building. Steve was quick to grab him and save him from a dire plunge below. He pulled Sitwell back but remained towering over the handler right at the building’s edge, not allowing the man to become comfortable.

Sitwell, knowing Rogers’ strict moral code was unmoved as Steve glowered at him.

“Is this little display meant to insinuate that you're gonna throw me off the roof?” he inquired unkindly. “Because it's really not your style, Rogers. Or Thirteen’s.”

Steve only clenched his jaw, face tense, as he released Sitwell and adjusted the wrinkles in his suit.

“You’re right,” Steve agreed easily enough as Sharon stepped forward. “But the funny thing is, I only just recently learned Agent 13’s name and it’s changed my entire perspective of her. So I really can’t say with any confidence what she’s capable of.”

He stepped aside just in time for Sharon to land a perfect yet brutal kick to Sitwell’s chest, knocking him clear off the roof. His scream echoed all around as he fell down, quickly out of sight. Sharon enjoyed the tranquil silence as they stood there.

“So,” Steve remarked shiftily, as close to fidgeting as she had ever seen him.

“Yes?” Sharon asked with a raised eyebrow. Rogers only sighed as he stuck his hands in his pockets.

“Remember the time when you and Romanoff crashed that God awful date of mine?”

“Vividly.” A smile came easily across her face as she recalled that wonderful day. “That was one of the most amusing spectacles I’ve ever witnessed.”

Steve rolled his eyes but soldiered on. “Yeah, well, besides that. When I went to your table and you…made that comment about…”

“About?” She really was confused now.

“Fondue.”

There it was.

“Ah.” She nodded in understanding.

Steve jerked his head somewhat bashfully. “I take it you know the story.”

“Please, Rogers.” Sharon snorted gleefully. “I grew up on that story. It’s a legend among the Howling Commando descendants.”

Steve hung his head in shame. “So you knew that Howard-"

“Yep.”

“And that I thought-"

“Uh huh.”

“Wonderful,” Steve deadpanned just as Sam crested above them with his wings, a wailing Sitwell held in his grip. The blonde duo watched as Sam flew above them, depositing Sitwell roughly on the roof. Sam dismounted as Sharon watched in awe as the armored wings retracted into the jetpack on his back. Sam turned and joined them as all three rounded on the shivering Sitwell.

It was like taking candy from a baby. Sitwell was completely broken and spewing forth secrets as if a dam had been broken. Words just kept gushing out of him as he kneeled cowardly before the trio.

“Zola's algorithm is a program...for choosing Insight's targets!” he got out through gasping pants.

“What targets?” Steve demanded to know.

“You!” Sitwell barked out before continuing in a rapid-fire speech. “A TV anchor in Cairo, the Undersecretary of Defense, a high school valedictorian in Iowa City. Bruce Banner, Stephen Strange, anyone who's a threat to Hydra! Now, or in the future.”

Steve raised an eyebrow questioningly. “The future? How could it know?”

“How could it not?” Sitwell chuckled bitterly as he glanced at the three of them. “The 21st century is a digital book. Zola taught Hydra how to read it.”

He scoffed at their blank faces before continuing almost desperately. “Your bank records, medical histories, voting patterns, e-mails, phone calls, your damn SAT scores. Zola's algorithm evaluates people's past to predict their future.”

Sharon felt goosebumps rise up her arms as she listened to Sitwell’s ramblings. It made sense, in a sick kind of way. People lived their lives through technology, it was simple enough to manipulate technology to start keeping track of them, watching them, analyzing them, killing them.

“What then?” Steve asked gravely.

Sitwell’s eyes shuttered as he finally realized the severity of his word vomit. “Oh, my God. Pierce is going to kill me!”

“What then?” Steve demanded, barging forward into Sitwell’s space. Sitwell met his gaze head-on.

“Then the Insight Helicarriers scratch people off the list. A few million at a time.”

Sharon’s heart dropped haphazardly to her stomach. She knew whatever Hydra was up to would be bad…but this was so much worse. The people Hydra were targeting would never see it coming. And once they started they would never stop, those Insight Helicarriers would never need to come back down.

They had to stop this. No matter the cost to them.

Steve seemed of the same mind as he stepped back from Sitwell and immediately turned towards her. The pair bent their heads together to converse quietly.

“Please tell me you have a plan,” she murmured to him. He nodded once.

“I do, but you’re not going to like it.”

“Well,” Sharon mused with a slight curl of her mouth. “That’s never stopped me before. Let me guess, we’re going to the Triskelion.”

Steve nodded his head in the affirmative. “We’re going to the Triskelion.”

The two blondes shared a look before turning back towards Sitwell and Sam.

“Alright,” Sharon announced with a clap of her hands. “Time to go. Sitwell, you’re coming with us.”

With some prodding, the four were able to discreetly make their way out of the building and into Sam’s Impala. Sam was up front driving, Steve riding shotgun with Sitwell and Sharon situated in the back. She immediately took Sitwell’s phone from him and after bypassing his password, began rooting through it, looking for whatever she could find about the Insight launch.

They were on the highway, heading towards the Triskelion, as Sitwell tried to talk his way out of his current predicament.

“Hydra doesn’t like leaks,” he said to the car’s occupants, sweat pooling above his eyes.

“So,” Sam butted in exasperatedly from the driver’s seat. “Why don't you try sticking a cork in it.”

Finding what she had been looking for on Sitwell’s phone, Sharon leaned forward to regard both Steve and Sam. “Insight's launching in sixteen hours, we're cutting it a little bit close here.”

“I know,” Steve agreed stoically as he stared ahead determinedly. “We'll use him to bypass the DNA scans and access the Helicarriers directly.”

“What?!” Sitwell all but shrieked from beside her as she leaned back in her seat. He stared incredulously at Rogers. “Are you crazy? That is a terrible, terrible idea.”

Of course, this was when everything went to hell in a handbasket.

Sharon’s head snapped up as a massive bang sounded from the roof of the car. No one even had a moment to contemplate it as the window next to Sitwell smashed open, glass spraying across the backseats. Sharon watched in wide-eyed horror as a hand reached in, grabbing Sitwell by the scruff of his neck and dragged him out of the car as if he was a ragdoll.

Sitwell’s panicked scream died in his throat as he was tossed mercilessly into the opposing lane of traffic and immediately crushed by a passing semi-truck. Sharon stared out the broken window, blood rushing through her ears.

 _What the fuck?!_ What the absolute fuck was that?

She didn’t have time to question or even think straight as the attacker clambered across the roof of the sedan. He had been ruthless to Sitwell, he wouldn’t be any kinder to them. Acting on instinct alone, Sharon lunged forward just as a bullet pierced the spot she had been sitting in. She launched herself into Rogers’ lap, arms wrapping around his neck as she jerked him forward, just as another bullet was fired into his seat. Holding onto Steve, she wildly kicked her foot, sending Sam lurching to the left as another bullet embedded itself into the driver’s seat.

Steve, gathering his wits about him, reached for the gear stick, slamming the sedan into park. The car screeched to a stop, throwing all three forward. They raised their heads in time to see their assailant roll off the car and down the highway. In an amazing feat of physical strength, the would-be assassin skidded across the pavement, righting himself and sliding on his knees, using his seemingly inhuman arm to steady himself.

He landed in a perfect crouch, head bent. They watched in fear as he raised his head and stood, completely undeterred by what had just occurred to him. He was outfitted entirely in black tactical clothing, weapons covering him. Long, dark hair framed his face, which was completely covered entirely by goggles and a muzzle-like mask. What Sharon noticed next about made her heart stop.

A metal arm. A red star.

The Winter Soldier.

The ghost was real.

Sharon and Steve stared at the mythical assassin in shock as he stood there like a messenger of death; still and imposing as cars rushed past him. Sharon, pulling a pistol from her backside, raised it just as they were bashed into from behind.

The car, being thrust from the SUV ramming them, surged forward and the shock of the slam caused Sharon to drop her pistol beneath Rogers’ seat. She bent down, looking for it fruitlessly between his legs as their car neared the Winter Soldier.

Without hesitation or self-preservation, he leaped, landing hard on their roof as his feet kicked out the back window. Sam stomped down on the brakes, trying to dislodge them from the armored SUV that was continuously pushing them forward like a battering ram.

They were all caught off guard as the bionic arm broke through the glass, grabbing the steering wheel and ripping it from the car. Now they were completely unmoored with no way of stopping the runaway sedan.

“Shit!” Sam yelled just as Sharon’s hand connected with her pistol. She flung it up, ready to aim for the assassin on their car. She fired the gun just as the soldier vaulted off their car, landing on the hood of the SUV behind them.

Their car went careening out of control, knocking into cars speeding past them. The way things were going, they wouldn’t make it out of this with all of their limbs still attached. They were hurled into again and this time the car turned on its side before crashing into the concrete meridian. They were throttled about the car at alarming speeds. Steve, even in the chaos, had grabbed hold of his shield and was looking for a way out. His eyes flew to the passenger door, which had been significantly weakened from the continual beat down the car was experiencing.

If he wiggled it enough…

The door began giving way, separating from the car. He wound his hand into Sharon’s jacket, fisting the material as he hauled her towards him, his grip unrelenting.

“Hang on!”

Their car was bashed into again, this time sending it flipping forward. As it became airborne Sharon and Steve frantically pulled Sam towards them and Steve threw all his weight into the door as it completely ripped off from the car.

The three remained claustrophobically entwined as they went sailing through the air. A moment later the car door pounded onto the highway, screeching metallically as it skidded across the lanes of traffic. The three huddled together, holding on as they sailed forward.

Sam’s car span completely out of control, flipping madly ahead of them. The wind was whipping through Sharon’s hair as she remained pressed close to Steve, her arm wrapped around Sam. The SUV and the Winter Soldier, still perched upon its hood, went speeding past them before it slammed on its breaks, turning towards the three. As the car door slowed, Sam rolled off, falling behind them.

The car door finally came to a stop with Sharon and Steve sprawled across it, the Avenger curled protectively over his partner. She was still gripping tightly onto her gun. The two hurried to their feet as the Winter Soldier jumped down from the SUV, armed gunmen springing forth from the vehicle.

They watched warily as the assassin was handed a daunting grenade launcher that he immediately aimed at the blonde duo.

Steve pushed Sharon away just as it was fired. He kneeled his shield before him as a buffer. The grenade hit him square on with such force that it sent both Rogers and his shield flying. Steve disappeared over the side of the overpass, crashing head-first into a city bus below.

If had been a normal man…he’d be dead instantly.

Not waiting a moment, Sharon and Sam ducked for cover behind braked cars as bullets rained down upon them from the gunmen. Sharon flinched minutely as they landed only inches from her head where she was crouched behind a minivan. Sam crept to the car behind her, kneeling by its trunk and staying out of the way of the gunfire.

In the slight lulls of guns firing, Sharon would poke out, firing back at the assortment of killers. She was able to shoot two down, but she couldn’t go on this way forever. They’d get to her if she remained here. Peaking her head out, she saw the Winter Soldier aiming for her with that damned grenade launcher.

Seeing the projectile coming, she hurdled the median and flipped her way into opposing traffic. The minivan blew up, glass and heat striking her back as she moved quickly. She landed on her knees just as a car came straight for her, horn honking loudly in warning. She somersaulted across the lanes and forced herself to her feet as she took off running, she threw herself across the hood of a luxury sports car, bullets following her. Seeking shelter behind the sports car she was trapped between the car and the edge of the overpass.

She was between a literal rock and a hard place.

Looking through the shattered windows she could once again see the Winter Soldier gunning for her. Not giving him another opportunity she pivoted on her heel and jumped, executing a perfect swan dive over the edge of the expressway just as another grenade collided into the sports car.

The car followed her over the overpass, she could feel the heat of its explosion as she dived down. She was freefalling, completely weightless, before raising her arm and firing off the grappling hook. It embedded itself into the concrete above as Sharon rotated and took a running landing. She cut her line just as her feet touched the ground, the momentum of it moving her forward as she ran, pistols in hands. The sports car plummeted behind her, going up in flames instantly.

As she sprinted towards the end of the overpass, the bus extended before her, she noticed a shadow being cast from up above.

It was the Winter Soldier. He was waiting for her, gun drawn.

She halted, staying in the shade of the overpass, intently watching the assassin’s shadow. It was only when the projection changed direction, aiming for the bus that was holding Steve that Sharon acted quickly. Popping out from the underpass, she raised both guns. She caught sight of the Winter Soldier, lined up her shot and fired in quick succession.

_Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang._

She had to admit, she felt a thrill of glee when the assassin’s head lurched back, one of her bullets connecting with the blacked out eyepiece of his goggles.

Using his distraction she took off running past the bus and tucked herself by a utility vehicle, letting it be a buffer between her and the wildly ricocheting gunfire. It was chaos all around her.

The recovered and furious Winter Soldier sprung up from the divide and unleashed a hellfire of bombardment down upon her. Rage fueling his every move as he fired unceasingly at her position. She volleyed back, but she knew if she remained where she was, she would be a sitting duck. She flinched as bullets rained down on the car next to her as she pressed herself further into the utility vehicle.

Knowing a strategic retreat when she saw one, she took off running, bullets licking at her heels as she dashed away. She knew though that this wasn’t it. Everything she had read about the Winter Soldier pointed to one thing: he always, _always_ completed the mission.

She and Steve were his mission. Steve, at the moment, seemed down for the count.

That meant he was coming for her.

She wouldn’t be able to outfight him, but maybe she could outsmart him, if only temporarily.

She took off into the chaotic fray of frantic civilians, all scampering this way and that as they tried to escape the hell occurring all around them. Sharon, heart pounding in her chest, kept running, getting a block or two away.

It was quiet here, the turmoil of the highway not yet having breached these borders. She came to a stop, hands on hips as she gasped for breath. She needed a distraction, now. Suddenly, an idea came to her. She reached for her SHIELD phone and immediately keyed up its recording device.

She knelt by a car and spoke quickly into the phone, “I make an LZ, twenty-three hundred block of Virginia Avenue. Rendezvous two minutes. Taking fire above and below expressway. Civilians threatened. Repeat, civilians threatened.”

She hit replay as the message cycled. _“I make an LZ…”_

She propped the phone up and darted across the street, landing just behind an abandoned car as a police vehicle at the end of the street blew up in a fiery blaze.

It seemed the Winter Soldier was closing in on her.

She remained hidden, watching as the imposing figure stalked intently through the street, grenade launcher at the ready. Every step he took was meticulously deadly and precise. She knew he could do real damage when he needed to.

Sharon’s breath caught in her throat as she watched him pause in the street, ears perking up as he heard her whispered recording. He knelt slowly, unearthing two rolling grenades and sent them towards her phone.

She watched cautiously, reaching for a garrote. She crept towards the man that she once thought only existed in nightmares just as the grenades went off. They consumed the car where her phone had rested. She used his own surprise against him as she came leaping out from her hiding place. With a flying kick, she disarmed him, wrapping her legs around his neck and holding on for dear life as he tried bucking her off of him.

She brought her hands around his neck, extending the garrote wire and pulling back harshly. But he was too quick for her, using his left hand, he held it up, allowing it to be a buffer between the wire and his throat. Sharon kept tugging forcefully as he backed them into a van, bashing her into it.

She groaned in surprise but refused to let go, her thighs squeezing him for all she was worth. The assassin got a grip on her leg with his metal arm and threw her forward. She smashed into a car, her ribs crying out in pain as she landed in a heap on the road. She laid across the street, gasping for air, as the Winter Soldier lunged for a fallen rifle. She stumbled shakily to her knees, pulling out her last trick up her sleeve.

Holding onto a SHIELD issued taser disk, she hurled it at the assassin and watched as it connected with his plated metal arm. It shocked the appendage and the arm went completely dead, the rifle falling uselessly from his grip. Not wanting to wait for his rebuttal she forced herself to her feet and ran like there was no tomorrow.

She flooded into a sea of scared civilians, all ducking and diving and having no idea where to go and how to stay safe. She was the Winter Soldier’s target, not them. Her arsenal was depleted and she was out of tricks.

If he found her, he was going to end her.

Sharon rather liked living.

“Get out of the way!” she yelled as she rushed past them. “Stay out of the way!”

She was just tumbling past an unoccupied car when the world flipped on itself.

_Bang._

A bullet hit her, going in and out of her shoulder in a single swoop. The sheer force of the shot was enough to send her to her knees as they smacked harshly into the unforgiving pavement. Pain erupted from her shoulder, like fire torching her skin, and she immediately pressed her hand down upon the wound as warm, scarlet blood gushed thickly through her fingers.

She stared at her bloodstained hand in a detached sense of shock, static ringing unbearably in her ears, as she pressed herself into the car, keeping her head down. She was all alone on this empty stretch of road.

This was it.

He was going to kill her.

She couldn’t see or hear him, but he was there. She knew he was there, stalking her like the prey she was. Her heart was thudding madly in her ribcage, her head going supernova from fear. She turned her head just in time to see him land on the hood of a car across the street from her, like an avenging angel of death, rifle aimed directly at her face.

She didn’t have time to think, breathe or blink as he bared down upon her like the monster he was claimed to be.

But then…there was Steve.

The Avenger, from out of nowhere, came charging bullheadedly from the other end of the street, ready to go toe to toe with the famed assassin. The Winter Soldier, catching sight of the super soldier, readied his metal fist for a mighty blow just as the blond raised his shield.

The shield clamored with the power of the strike as Steve barely, just barely, was able to keep the shield raised against the Winter Soldier. The assassin batted the shield away and aimed a robust kick toward the super soldier’s torso. Steve went flying back as the soldier sat up, firing down upon his opponent. Steve was completely curled behind his shield and it was the only thing keeping him alive.

He waited for the barrage of bullets to end before somersaulting to his feet, just as the assassin found a new weapon to use against the Avenger. Steve ducked behind a car as a trail of bullets followed him. The moment the gun locked, Steve soared across the top of the car, legs extended, as he used them to disarm the assassin.

He brought his shield up just in time to block a new wave of gunfire from a pistol. He leaped, landing a hard blow to the side of the Winter Soldier’s head. He tried to bring his shield down on the man, but the soldier used his metal arm to lock onto the shield, keeping it interposed between the two of them.

A packed punch to Steve’s face had his head reeling back as he refused to let go of his shield. The soldier ruthlessly rotated it, flipping Steve along with it. Steve landed on his feet, head spinning. In the midst of the flip the Winter Soldier – for the second time – had gained control of Steve’s shield. He used it to block the super soldier’s jabs and uppercuts as Steve rammed him.

The assassin landed an unrelenting throat punch to the Avenger, which had Steve soaring back and landing hard on the street. He rolled backward, landing on his feet at the foot of a van as he stared up at the Winter Soldier, who was brandishing his shield with a sickening sense of familiarity.

Not waiting for the madman to strike, Steve charged him. With a wild toss, the shield flew past him, burying itself in the van behind him. Steve continued running, even as the Winter Soldier unsheathed a knife, expertly twirling it before going in for the kill.

The two men – practically equal in regards to brute strength – engaged each other with dizzying speed and ferocious power. Steve blocked, blow by blow, every single knife thrust. Steve was able to land one punch that had the soldier backing up. Using the space to his advantage, Steve jumped up, spinning and landing a forceful rear kick that had the assassin thundering into a car. Not giving the man a moment to breathe Steve dashed forward, landing a savage knee strike to the assassin’s chest.

They exchanged blows, punches landing hard enough to splinter bones, as they volleyed back and forth in a dance only they could perform. Steve had never fought anyone who was…well, like him. The man’s strength was nearly equal to Steve’s. He could do things a normal man couldn’t.

He was something else entirely.

Steve was able to flip the man to the ground and crowded over him, attempting to keep him down. The Winter Soldier lunged to his feet, metal hand enclosing around Steve’s throat. The air was immediately punched out of Steve’s throat as the hand pressed down, squeezing his windpipe precariously. The arm calibrated and whirled as the soldier squeezed harder, sucking the life out of Steve slowly.

The Winter Soldier threw him back as Steve went flying across a car hood, landing in a huddled mess on the other side. The assassin stalked forward aggressively, jumping up onto the hood, and propelling himself up as he slammed down on the other side. It was only Steve’s quick moving that stopped his face from colliding with the soldier’s fist. His punch was so deadly it left a crater in the street.

The two jumped up and engaged once again, equally matched as they punched and blocked in equal measure. Steve internally groaned as he felt some of his ribs give out from the force of the assassin’s jabs.

One punch sent Steve careening into a van and he had only just righted himself when a knife came down upon him. Steve blocked it, only to have the assassin push both into the van. The two skid across the vehicle, knife trailing behind as it sliced easily through metal.

Steve was able to duck under the man’s arms, wrapping himself around the killer’s torso and lifting both up before slamming the Winter Soldier down from behind. Steve flipped up, reaching for his shield and used it as a buffer against a new wave of abuse from the assassin.

They continued on, never-ending, one against the other. Steve dodged a knife to his shoulder and swiftly brought his shield down on the assassin’s metallic arm. He brought it down hard before aiming a blow at the man’s head.

He expertly spun, hand reaching behind to grab ahold of the Winter Soldier’s neck as he tossed him over his shoulder. The assassin rolled across the pavement, his mask discarded in the fray. He stood slowly, his back to Steve.

Steve grounded himself, shield raised and ready for the next assault. Would they just go on like this forever? Clashing and fighting with no clear victor? Never to win, never to die.

Steve breathed in deeply as the man turned, steely gaze set unforgivingly upon Steve. The Avenger froze as he stared in shock at the unbelievable sight before him.

And just like that, Steve’s world came to a lurching stop.

Everything spun out of control as he struggled to breathe.

_It couldn’t be – it couldn’t be – it couldn’t be – it couldn’t be._

But it was.

“Bucky?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sharon, Steve, Sam, Sitwell - soooo many S's. I am S-ed out. And poor Steve. He's just having a rough couple of days, isn't he? First he learns about all the ways SHIELD has been deceiving him, then he has the double whammy of the revelation of Hydra and Sharon's Carter connection, and now his BFF Bucky is back. Man, Steve deserves a vacation. 
> 
> If you like what I'm doing here, feel free to check me out on Tumblr. I'm gogentledarknight (I know, I know, I know. AO3 & Tumblr accounts typically have the same username for accessibility, but I'm just a renegade that way). I just recently got into making collages and I've already made at least 4 Staron AU moodboards that are sitting on my phone. I have to keep physically stopping myself from posting them and spamming the Sharon Carter tag. It's just so addictive. I have so many ideas. 
> 
> Thank you all for the previous reviews. You guys make writing this story so worth it. They bring a smile to my face every time. 
> 
> Pic time!
> 
> Sharon's ponytail:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/38908346825/in/dateposted-public/)  
> 
> 
> Sharon's jacket:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/39807050671/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Sharon's jeans:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/39807050641/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Sharon's boots:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/38908346895/in/dateposted-public/)


	8. The Person You'd Take a Bullet for Is Behind the Trigger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Whoever he used to be,” Sam reasoned, “The guy he is now, I don’t think he’s the kind you save. He’s the kind you stop.”
> 
> Sam was a good guy, a good man. Steve was lucky beyond belief that of all the joggers he could have befriended, Sam had been the one. And just like Steve, Sam had lost his own best friend. He had watched him fall and had felt just as helpless as Steve had on that blasted train in the Swiss Alps.

**_April 3 rd, 2014 _ **

**_Washington, D.C._ **

****

“Bucky?”

Steve couldn’t believe it. Bucky – his best friend, his brother in everything but blood, - was standing there, _right there,_ looking at him like he didn’t even know him. Pale, blank eyes took in Steve’s trembling stance without anything akin to recognition in them. All Steve felt was a wave of _wrongwrongwrongwrong_ whirling through him as he stared at the apparition come to life in front of him.

His blue eyes raked over Bucky’s form, so heartbreakingly familiar and foreign at the same time. Bucky’s hair, wild and untamed as it fell down his shoulders, framing his haggard face. The metal arm – oh God, a _metal arm_ – gleamed in the afternoon sunlight.

What had they done to him?

Bucky stepped forward, expression vacant, and asked in a voice Steve thought he’d never be lucky enough to hear again other than in his dreams (nightmares).

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

Steve’s heart shattered. He didn’t even have it in himself to protect his body when Bucky, from seemingly out of nowhere, unearthed a pistol, raised and aimed it straight at Steve’s head. Just as he fingered the trigger, Sam came swooping out of the sky. With a flying kick to Bucky’s head, the famed assassin went rolling, Steve watching him with intent eyes, afraid that if he even blinked Bucky would disappear.

Bucky lunged to his feet, pistol once again ready. But – for one second – he hesitated, his eyes roving cagily before his face hardened with conviction. He moved to pull down on the trigger when something came speeding over Steve’s shoulder. It came straight for Bucky.

Steve flinched as an explosion sounded only feet ahead of him, he could feel the flames licking at his face. He turned his head and saw Sharon – battered and bleeding – leaning precariously against an abandoned truck, a rocket launcher held firmly in her grip. Steve whirled around, eyes searching desperately through the smoke and flames, but he came up short.

Bucky was gone. As if he hadn’t been there in the first place.

Sirens wailed in the not so far distance as SHIELD descended upon the beaten trio. Armored SUVs barricaded them in as STRIKE came barreling out, firearms at the ready. Steve watched everything with a detached sense of shock. Time was moving slowly, STRIKE’s yelled orders blurring together. The only thing Steve could focus on was the pounding of his heart in his ribcage and the rushing of blood through his ears.

All he could think about, even comprehend, was _Bucky._

“Drop the shield, Cap!” Rumlow bellowed, leading the charge as he and STRIKE circled the three.

Steve, swallowing back bile, slowly did as he was told, placing the shield on the street. He raised his arms as Rumlow came up from behind, still barking orders at the Avenger.

“On your knees! Get on your knees!” he lashed out, roughly kicking out Steve’s knee so that the super-soldier stumbled to the concrete.

“Now! Get down! Get down!”

Steve, Sharon, and Sam were completely surrounded. Sam, wings and all, was being roughly pushed towards a truck. Sharon had been pulled up and cuffed and was slowly being escorted towards Sam.

Helicopters were hovering above. It seemed once again, Captain America would be making the five o’clock news.

Steve remained frozen even as Rollins, with sadistic glee, pressed the end of his rifle into the back of Steve’s neck, it felt cold against his sweaty neck. Rumlow glanced from the helicopters to the downed superhero and shook his head.

“Put the gun down,” he ordered Rollins, who didn’t waver.

“Not here. Not here!” Rumlow hissed and finally, Rollins relented, lowering the rifle as Steve’s hands were roughly cuffed. Steve was numb as Rumlow forced him to his feet and shoved the three fugitives into an armored truck. Sam and Sharon were side-by-side, Sharon hissing in pain as she gingerly sat. Her eyes were glossy as her head tiredly bobbed to the side. Steve was placed across from them in some form of steel restraints, locking his hands together and bolting his feet to the vehicle floor. He didn’t even try to fight it.

Steve’s shield and Sam’s wings were carelessly tossed in, no use to the pair with two armored guards sitting in the truck with the three, their faces covered with blacked out helmets. With a rumble of the engine, the truck took off, carrying the three to parts unknown. Silence reigned for seemingly forever until Sam grew tired of it and turned to the two ex-SHIELD agents.

“So,” he drawled out. “Anyone want to tell me who the hell that crazy ass killer with the bionic arm was?”

Steve cringed, eyes immediately drawn to his feet as he curled up like a wounded animal. Sharon watched him warily before sighing as she answered Sam’s justified question.

 _"That_ ,” Sharon sucked in a harsh breath as her shoulder throbbed in pain. “Was the Winter Soldier. He’s only the greatest assassin in the history of ever.”

Sam’s eyes momentarily widened as he whistled.

“Damn,” was all he said.

“Bucky.”

Both Sharon and Sam stared at Steve in confusion. The super-soldier was buckled over, staring listlessly at his hands.

“What?” Sam asked with a raised eyebrow. Steve forced himself to raise his head as he looked at both his allies and said gravely, his voice near shaking.

“The Winter Soldier…it was Bucky.”

Sharon didn't know what to think as she gazed at Steve. He was so downtrodden, so raw, that it was hard to believe the man was lying or mistaken. But it was a fantastical claim to make that his dead friend was the man who had nearly killed all of them. 

Sam was unconvinced as he questioned the blond. “Bucky? Bucky _freakin’_ Barnes? Your old pal? Steve, he’s dead.”

Steve shook his head adamantly. They didn’t get it, didn’t understand. They hadn’t _seen_ him. Steve could be blind, deaf, and braindead, but he’d recognize Bucky anywhere. Knowing Bucky was as familiar as looking at himself in the mirror.

“I know what I saw. I swear on my ma’s grave, it was him. He looked right at me…and he didn’t even know me.”

Steve’s voice broke as he looked down, overcome with the emotions rattling through his body. Sharon, amber eyes focused completely on him, exhaled softly as she delicately reached her foot out so it knocked gently against Steve’s. He swallowed a sob at the small, kind gesture.

Sam, understandably, was not as accepting as he tried to work through Steve’s outlandish claim.

“How’s that even possible?” Sam questioned skeptically. “It was like 70 years ago.”

Steve knew that. He knew that better than anyone. But he was here when he should have died decades ago in the ice, so why was it so impossible to believe that Bucky had somehow made it too?

Somehow Bucky had survived the fall from the train. Somehow he was like Steve. Somehow…

“Zola,” Steve whispered with a sickening sense of realization. Of course. It had to be Zola. That _sonofabitch._

Steve kept his head down as he haltingly explained. “Bucky’s whole unit was captured in ’43, Zola experimented on him. Whatever he did helped Bucky survive the fall. They must have found him and…”

Steve trailed off as a thousand possibilities of the things they might have done to Bucky came flashing through his mind. Steve wanted to be sick. This was _his_ fault. He had done this. He had let Bucky go.

Sharon could see the guilt fracturing across his face. She sighed as she leaned her head back, feeling woozy and cold all at the same time.

“It’s not your fault, Steve.” she softly reassured him, but it did nothing to stop the guilt from seeping into his bones, taking up every available space in his larger than life body. It sunk into his bloodstream, carrying itself to his heart as it clenched painfully.

“Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky,” he admitted, though it sounded more like a murmured confession; sacred and holy and only meant to be shared with a higher power.

Sharon shuddered as another bout of shivers racked her body. She distantly knew she was in shock, but it felt far away as her head continued to go fuzzy. She leaned her head back as Sam watched her worriedly, his dark eyes trained on her left shoulder where blood was still readily gushing out of the wound. Cursing silently, Sam turned towards the two silent guards.

“We need to get a doctor here,” he beseeched urgently. “If we don’t put pressure on that wound, she’s gonna bleed out here in the truck.”

The guard on the left brandished a stun baton menacingly towards the VA counselor. But then something unexpected occurred. The three watched in shock as the guard turned the baton on their comrade, ramming it into the chest of the other guard. As the one guard convulsed their secret savior reached up and landed a swift and powerful kick that had the stunned guard knocked out.

The three sat in astonished silence as the guard reached up and lifted their helmet revealing none other than Maria Hill.

“Ah,” she hummed as she lowered the helmet. “That thing was squeezing my head.”

She seemed completely nonplussed as the trio stared at her in shock. Where the hell had Maria even come from? Maria batted away at her flyaway hairs before setting her eyes on Sam with a twinge of confusion.

“Who’s this guy?” she asked Steve. Sharon couldn’t help the laughter that burst out of her before it immediately turned into pained groaning as her shoulder cried out in agony.

“Hill,” she got out through choked breaths. “You are officially my favorite person.”

“Wonderful,” Maria deadpanned as she moved to stand. She went to Steve’s side and unlocked his restraints as he stretched out his tired limbs.

“What are you doing here?” he questioned as he rubbed some feeling back into his wrists.

“What does it look like?” Hill countered easily as she unlocked Sharon and Sam’s handcuffs. “Rescuing you sorry lot, of course.”

“Yeah?” Sam inquired because he didn’t know Maria and therefore had nothing to lose. “And how do you plan on doing that? We’re in a heavily outfitted caravan of people who want our asses dead and buried.”

Maria only rolled her eyes primly as she searched through her utility belt. “Oh, ye of little faith. I have this covered. But seriously, who are you?”

“Sam Wilson, ma’am.”

Maria chuckled as she glanced at Steve. “Oh, I can see why you like him. Well, Sam, I’m Maria Hill, Deputy Director of SHIELD when not playing the white knight to wayward agents and superheroes.”

Sam’s brows furrowed suspiciously. “Isn’t it SHIELD that tried to kill us?”

Maria sighed as she pulled out what she was looking for. “Not everyone. Now, let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

She pulled out a small, handheld device and Sharon’s eyes widened as she recognized it immediately.

“Is that a Mouse Hole?”

Maria nodded in answer. “That it is. Fitz was very proud of it.”

“I thought it never went into distribution,” Sharon pondered, eyeing the device yearningly. Fitz may have named it the Mouse Hole but everyone who knew of its existence called it the Lightsaber. All though never to Fury’s face. That was a can of worms no one wanted to deal with. The handy little thing was a laser cutting device that could slice through practically everything. Every agent had wanted one but alas they had never been mass-produced.

Maria smirked in response. “Just because it never went in production for mere field agents, doesn’t mean it never went into production. We high ranking agents have thoroughly enjoyed using it.”

“God, I hate you,” Sharon muttered under her breath without any real heat to her words. The truth of the matter was, it was getting harder with every passing minute for her to stay awake. She was suddenly so tired….

Maria opened her mouth to argue but shut it when Rogers cut her a terse look. Instead, she went to the window, craning her head to see ahead.

“What are we waiting for?” Sam asked from his spot, shouldering Sharon’s weight as she leaned into him, clenching her teeth.

“The correct intersection,” Maria replied matter-of-factly. “Everything has to be timed perfectly for this to work.”

The van continued on as Maria watched. “Aha!” she said in triumphant as it came to a stop at a red light. She kneeled down, igniting the device, light sparking in the cramped space of the truck. Maria sliced easily through the car floor as Sam watched with amazed eyes.

“This is insane,” he murmured as Sharon weakly chuckled.

“Welcome to SHIELD.”

“Or rather, Hydra,” Steve snipped from his spot. Maria raised an eyebrow, intrigued, but continued on. She carved out a large square but didn’t complete the shape, leaving a few inches undone.

“Alright, children,” she announced to the truck’s occupants. “Gather your gear and let’s get the hell out of here.”

Sam reached for his wings as Steve gathered up his shield. The four gathered around the square, waiting for the van to start driving again. When it started rocking forward Maria immediately turned towards Steve.

“Captain,” she instructed and Steve wasted no time in pressing down hard on the square. The sliced metal gave way easily as the bottom fell out onto the street below. The four wasted no time. Steve slipped out first followed by Maria as Sam supported Sharon down. They laid sprawled across the street, staring up at the sky as the SHIELD caravan continued onwards, none the wiser that their prisoners had just escaped.

The group waited several moments to ensure their safety before Maria popped up, stalking across the street to a nondescript van. She pulled open the side door and gestured to the cramped, dark space.

“Everyone in,” she directed. Steve sighed but followed her orders, slipping in and holding out his hand towards Sharon. She grabbed on and he gently pulled her into the van, setting her down as Sam jumped in, slamming the door shut behind him. Maria hopped into the driver’s seat, started the van and began driving, giving the three no idea about where they were heading. Sharon breathed shallowly as her legs stretched out listlessly before her. Her head was swimming as Sam kneeled down in front of her, hand going to her shoulder.

“Do you have anything to stop the bleeding?” he called up front. Without taking her eyes off the road Maria tossed back a first aid kit.

“All I got is basic first aid,” she explained with an apologetic shrug. “You’ll have to make do.”

Sam nodded as he opened it up and began rifling through its content. “I’ll make it work.”

Steve hovered nearby, out of the way but still attentive as he watched Sam work on Sharon’s injured shoulder. He flinched as she gasped in pain when Sam put pressure on the wound, trying to halt the steady flow of blood. Seeing that she was in good hands, Steve allowed himself to stand back, plopping down on the van floor, his shield clanging against the metal floor. He leaned his head back, thoughts filled with Bucky as the van continued onward.

It drove and drove, leaving the city behind for dense woodlands. Eventually, Maria brought the vehicle to a stop. Steve jumped up as Maria threw open the door, faint sunlight streaming in. He blinked rapidly but leaped out of the van, turning instantly as Sam led Sharon to the door. Sharon carefully stepped down, Steve’s arm wrapping around her waist to steady her as she placed both feet on the ground. She was pressing a white cloth to her wound, but it was already stained red with scarlet blood.

Sharon blinked confusedly as she took in the sight before her. They were in a forest with a large, cement structure rising up before them. It was some kind of secret facility. Maria led the way with a nod of her head as the trio trailed behind her, Steve’s arm still loosely encircled her waist as she struggled to walk straight. Sam placed a guiding hand on her lower back as they came upon a gate. Maria held it open as the four made their way through it into a dark, dank tunnel that seemed to stretch on forever. Eerie fluorescent lights lit the way as they continued on.

Steve tensed as he saw a figure jogging his way towards them. He moved to stand protectively in front Sharon and Sam but was waved off by Maria.

“Easy there, Cap,” she said. “Doctor Dellucci is a friendly.”

Steve, willing to follow Maria’s lead seeing as she hadn’t let them down yet, nodded but remained wary as the doctor, a portly, middle-aged man with large glasses, grew nearer.

“GSW,” Maria announced loudly with a nod towards the struggling Sharon. “She’s lost at least a pint.”

“Maybe two,” Sam supplied helpfully, his eyes drawn to the soaked cloth pressed to Sharon’s skin.

“Let me take her.” Doctor Dellucci came to a stop in front of them. He reached for Sharon but Steve was reluctant to transfer her over into his expert hands. Maria shook her head as she continued marching forward.

“She’ll want to see him first.”

Doctor Dellucci, eyeballing the blonde’s wound critically, looked poised to argue, but at Maria’s sharp look, nodded resignedly.

“You’re the boss.”

“Who are we going to see?” Sharon asked, her words slurring together as Steve easily supported her faltering weight. He kept her upright when she tripped over her own two feet. The motley group continued down the hallway, coming into a cavernous space. Maria pushed aside some curtains as Sharon and Steve stepped forward only to stop dead in their tracks at the sight of a figure lying in a hospital bed.

It was Nick Fury. A very much _alive_ Nick Fury.

The undead director of SHIELD, looking very much the worse for wear with numerous bruises and scrapes as well as covered in gauze, blearily peered up at his two troublesome agents.

“About damn time,” he finally rumbled out, voice raspy from disuse.

“What the fuck,” Sharon whispered as her body finally gave out due to the stress of battle, the shock of her injury, and the blood loss. Her legs collapsed out from under her and she would have fallen to the ground if it wasn’t for Rogers’ quick reflexes. He held her up as she continued gaping at Fury.

“That’s it,” Doctor Dellucci said impatiently as he pulled up a chair. “Give her to me.”

Steve placed her in the chair and then stood, eyes still on Fury as the doctor went to work on Sharon’s shoulder. He shrugged her out of her ruined jacket and took her arm, quickly inserting a needle and starting an IV of fluids. He then set about disinfecting the wound, humming to himself when he noted that the bullet had gone in and out without any major fuss or long-term damage.

Steve, satisfied with Sharon’s care, whirled on Fury; anger and disbelief apparent in his clear, blue gaze.

“Explain,” he demanded evenly as the director languidly sighed, carefully sitting up against his pillows. As usual, Fury did things his own way and instead of explaining why the fuck he was alive he just rattled off his current injuries.

“While I may be alive, it’s only barely. Lacerated spinal column, cracked sternum, shattered collarbone, perforated liver, and one hell of a headache.”

“Don’t forget your collapsed lung,” Doctor Dellucci dryly quipped as he began stitching up Sharon’s wound. She sucked in a breath as the needle pierced her skin. She hoped he would give her good painkillers after this. She deserved it after the day she had. She really did.

“Oh, let’s not forget that,” Fury sarcastically bantered. “Otherwise, I’m good.”

Sharon was still staring at him in disbelief as she tried to make sense of the baffling situation. “They cut you open,” she incredulously maintained. “Your heart stopped.”

“Tetrodotoxin B,” Fury explained tiredly. “Slows the pulse to one beat a minute. Banner developed it for stress. Didn't work so great for him, but we found a use for it.”

“Why all the secrecy?” Steve demanded indignantly, hands on his hips as he glared at his (former?) boss. “Why not just tell us?”

“An attempt on the Director’s life had to look successful,” Maria pragmatically asserted from her corner, unruffled as ever in the face of Captain America’s legendary anger.

Fury, for his part, only shrugged. “Can’t kill you if you’re already dead. Besides,” he looked down, “I wasn’t sure who to trust.”

Sharon’s heart staggered for a moment before correcting itself. She stared down at her lap, troubled by Fury’s words but not wanting to show it as the doctor continued working on her shoulder.

“That’s bullshit, Fury,” Rogers snapped. He opened his mouth, ready to unleash a tirade of patriotic proportions when he snapped his mouth shut and glanced uneasily over his shoulder. The atmosphere of the room changed immediately as everyone tensed, both Maria and Fury reaching for hidden weapons. Sharon figured if push came to shove, she could use her IV pole as some kind of staff.

“Is it just us here?” Steve asked lowly to Maria as she nodded, perplexed.

“Relax, Rogers,” a deceptively carefree voice announced from out of nowhere. “It’s just little ol’ me.”

Natasha appeared out of the shadows like some kind of wraith, looking as poised and deadly as ever. Her bright red hair was severely straight and for all her ease, one could see the pinched look of determination in her green eyes. Her gaze moved quickly through the room, cataloging the addition of Sam and Sharon’s injury before finally landing on Fury. She looked at him for a long moment before her face smoothed over as she smirked.

“Nicholas,” she said with a worrying amount of sweetness. “So glad to see that you’re still in the land of the living.”

Her eyes told a very different story. Sharon knew that when a lull came, Natasha would be at Fury’s side, demanding answers in the way only she could. She’d make him pay for making her mourn him. Sharon couldn’t find it in herself to sympathize with Fury. He had it coming. If she had it in her, she’d join in on the guilt tripping.

“Natasha,” Steve greeted with a puzzled expression, his eyes apprehensive as he regarded the spy. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“It’s okay,” Sharon piped up from her spot. “I texted her.”

Sharon then blinked bemusedly as she glanced at her friend. “Although, that doesn’t account for what you’re doing _here,_ Nat.”

“That would be my handy work,” Maria said as she stepped forward, both blondes looking at Hill expectedly. The Deputy Director only crossed her arms over her chest as she explained.

“Once the two of you went AWOL, Romanoff reached out after dispatching her STRIKE team in Gyumri. I gave her these coordinates. I figured we’d need the backup. Looks like I was correct, as usual.”

“I couldn’t let you knuckleheads have all the fun,” Natasha said with a grin as she stepped further into the room, coming to stand at Sharon’s side. Doctor Dellucci had finished up with the stitching and was hunting down pain meds as Sharon slumped in her seat, breathing heavily. Natasha’s eyes were focused on her injured shoulder.

“Thirteen,” she acknowledged evenly, not giving anything away with her light tone.

Sharon weakly chuckled as she looked up at the redhead. “Gig’s up, Nat, he knows my name, my _full_ name.”

Natasha paused, eyes flitting from Steve then back to Sharon as she asked curiously, “How’d he take it?”

“Not well,” Steve answered from across the room.

Sharon only shrugged optimistically. “We’re working on it.”

Natasha reached out, gently prodding the wound that would one day leave a matching scar to the one she had on her hip. “Soviet slug, no rifling.”

Sharon only nodded, still feeling woozy from the blood loss. “For a ghost, he sure has good aim.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed as she withdrew her hand. “Don’t joke, Sharon, he tried to kill you and he’s a man who _always_ completes the mission.”

“Aww, Nat,” Sharon cooed with batted eyelashes. “Were you worried about me?”

Natasha snorted. “Hardly.”

Fury cleared his throat and all eyes turned to him. “Now that I have _everyone’s_ attention." He shot a dirty look at Natasha and Sharon. “I think it’s time we get down to business. First, who the hell is this guy?”

He nodded to Sam who had remained silent through all the talking.

“Also,” Fury continued as he set his gaze on Sharon and Steve. “What the hell have you two gotten yourselves into?”

 

* * *

 

 

Hours later found the ragtag assortment of SHIELD personnel and Sam bunkered around a table filled with laptops, pictures and blueprints. Steve and Sam were standing as the rest sat. In great detail, Sharon and Steve had recounted the events of the last few days, including Hydra’s growth within SHIELD, Pierce’s treachery and the identity of the fabled Winter Soldier.  

Fury, throughout all of it, had listened stoically even as their claims became much more fantastical in their nuances and complexities. When both blonds were done speaking, all Fury did was sigh as he reached for a black and white photograph of Alexander Pierce. It was from the ‘70s when Pierce had been young, handsome, and woefully idealistic.

“This man declined the Nobel Peace Prize,” he said lowly, bitterness creeping in. “He said, ‘Peace wasn’t an achievement, it was a responsibility.’”

Fury chucked the picture aside, clearly upset within himself for never seeing the danger that lurked within Pierce’s shiny exterior. It wasn’t every day someone got one over the famously paranoid man.

“See,” he said pointedly to the group. “Its stuff like this that gives me trust issues.”

Sharon only rolled her eyes from her spot. Her shoulder had been wrapped and Doctor Dellucci had given her a healthy dose of morphine, so she was feeling pretty good at the moment. She was enjoying it while it lasted.

“We have to stop the launch,” she said as she sank further into her chair.

“I don’t think the Council’s accepting my calls anymore,” Fury said as he sat up, opening up a briefcase that had three sleek computer chips inside it.

“What’s that?” Sam asked, stepping forward to get a better look.

“Once the helicarriers reach three thousand feet,” Maria intoned from next to Fury as she flipped a laptop around to show everyone the screen,.“They’ll triangulate with Insight satellites becoming fully weaponized.”

The screen displayed the triangulation process and just how far reaching the Insight Helicarriers would be once fully operational.

“We need to breach those carriers and replace the targeting blades with our own,” Fury explained.

“One or two won’t cut it,” Maria said bluntly as she eyed the group. “We need to link all three carriers for this to work because if even one of those ships remains operational a whole lot of people are gonna die.”

The room felt heavy with expectation and fear of what could happen if they failed.

Nick cleared his throat before continuing. “We have to assume everyone aboard is Hydra. We need to get past them, insert the server blades, and maybe, just maybe, we can salvage what’s left.”

Steve’s eyes flashed angrily as he stepped towards the table, gaze locked onto Fury.

“We’re not salvaging anything,” Steve insisted strongly with a clenched jaw. “We’re not just taking down the carriers, Nick, we’re taking down SHIELD.”

Sharon’s breath caught in her throat. Even after knowing the truth, that everything she had wanted in life was a lie, it was still a tough pill to swallow thinking of a world where SHIELD didn’t exist. Peggy had built SHIELD up from nothing and now they were going to raze it to the ground.

Fury scoffed in return. “SHIELD had nothing to do with it.”

“You gave me this mission, this is how it ends.” Steve stared down Fury unflinchingly. “SHIELD’s been compromised, you said so yourself. Hydra grew right under your nose and nobody noticed.”

“Why do you think we’re meeting in this cave?” Fury volleyed back. “I noticed.”

Steve scowled fiercely. “And how many paid the price before you did?”

The room was thick with tension as Fury sighed, looking away from Rogers’ unyielding stare. “Look, I didn’t know about Barnes.”

“Even if you had,” Steve said warily. “Would you have told me? Or would you have compartmentalized that too?”

Steve shook his head before asserting, “SHIELD, Hydra, it all goes.”

Silence rang in the room for a long moment.

“He’s right,” Maria agreed from Fury’s right side. Fury stared at his #2 in shock before his eyes darted to Natasha and Sharon. Natasha gave a single, purposeful nod. Sharon sighed, emotions whirling uneasily in her gut before she looked Fury dead in the eye and nodded her head.

He knew what it cost – the pain it caused her – to turn her back on Peggy’s legacy. It all had to go until nothing was left.

As a last resort, Fury glanced up at Sam who only shrugged. “Don’t look at me. I do what he does, just slower.”

Seeing that he was beaten, Fury leaned back into her chair, exhaling heavily.

“Well,” he locked eyes with Steve. “Looks like you’re giving the orders now, Captain.” 

Steve’s shoulders relaxed as he breathed out evenly.

“Alright,” he addressed the group. “Let’s get to work.”

It was quickly established that Steve and Sam would be their aerial support. Both would take a single helicarrier and then tag-team the final one. Hill would be their eye in the sky by taking control of the Trisk’s command center and running interference for the two.

“We’re going to need someone to infiltrate the World Security Council,” Sharon said from her spot. Natasha smirked as she pulled something out of her pocket.

“Well, I guess it’s good that I had these bad boys lying around.” She lightly tossed two Photostatic veils onto the table. They were the Holy Grail of undercover work. They had the ability to completely imitate the face and voice of another person. With the nano mask, one could completely become someone else without anyone ever noticing a difference.

“Good work, Romanoff,” Maria contemplated as she typed away on her laptop. “Secretary Caldwell’s flight arrives at BWI tomorrow, 9am.”

Secretary Caldwell was the lone female on the World Security Council. While older, the British woman was made completely out of steel. Natasha would have fun with that.

“Romanoff will impersonate Caldwell,” Fury instructed gruffly. Natasha smirked from her spot.

“I’ll be sure to practice my disdain for Secretary Pierce.” Natasha glanced at Steve with a teasing glint in her emerald eyes.

“You sure I can hang with your crew?” she inquired jokingly. “It seems having your name begin with an ‘S’ is a prerequisite.”

Steve only rolled his eyes, but his mouth did curl up briefly. Natasha turned back towards Fury.

“I’ll need two Alpha Level members if I’m going to disable the encryption on the Insight data.”

Fury nodded resolutely. “You leave that to me.”

“What about me?” Sharon asked from her spot at the table. “Where will I be?”

She understood that she wouldn’t be as mobile with her busted shoulder, but she was still pretty damn useful. Just ask her. And she wasn’t about to be sidelined, not when taking out those Hydra bastards that had made a mockery of Peggy’s agency. She was going to make them pay.

“You’re going to take that other mask,” Fury nodded to them on the table. “And incorporate yourself into the Insight launch crew, see if there’s any way to stop those helicarriers from getting into the sky at all.”

“Definitely makes our job easier,” Sam said with a small grin as Sharon smiled back at him.

“Who do we know that has insider access to Project Insight?” she asked aloud as everyone (bar Sam) pondered this. It was Maria who had the answer.

“Well, we do know someone,” she declared to the room, her eyes flashing with interest. “Someone who was recently assigned to the Insight launch crew due to her other assignment going belly-up.”

Sharon arched an eyebrow. “Who?”

Maria smirked as she responded, “Agent 29.”

Natasha’s eyes roved over Sharon appraisingly before she nodded in acquiescence. “That could work. You’re the same height and have the same build. All you need is a wig, the mask will do the rest of the work.”

“So what you’re saying is,” Steve interjected wryly. “You want Sharon to go undercover as my _next door neighbor_?”

“Agent 29, Rogers,” Natasha drawled. “Not Nurse Kate. Keep up.”

“Oh. Sorry,” he muttered. “My mistake.”

Further planning continued, though Steve only had it in himself to listen halfheartedly. He was secretly relieved when the powwow broke up and he made a hasty retreat for above ground, wanting to leave the claustrophobic darkness of the bunker behind. He found a sunny spot on a platform and stared ahead contemplatively.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Bucky.

He had forced himself not to ruminate over the how’s and whys Bucky had come to be Hydra’s tool, the fearsome Winter Soldier. Instead, he looked to the past, images of their childhood and young adult years blurring through his mind. One instance, in particular, stood out starkly among the rest.

_“We looked for you after,” Bucky murmured quietly as he meandered behind Steve. Steve’s shoulders were curled inward, making him even smaller than usual – something he normally hated with a fiery passion, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care, today of **all** days – his eyes were puffy and red from tears that had stubbornly leaked out. _

_“My folks wanted to give you a ride to the cemetery.”_

_Mr. & Mrs. Barnes had always been exceedingly kind to Steve, always offering him a spot at their table – even though they already had four other mouths to feed – and letting Bucky waste his time and potential on a perennial mooch like Steve. They had even donated some money so Steve could pay for his ma’s funeral. _

_Steve sucked in a breath as he ducked his head, feeling Bucky’s eyes boring into his back. “I know, I’m sorry. I just…kind of wanted to be alone.”_

_He hoped Bucky would understand. Bucky – popular, charming, and genuine – had always thrived on the energy of others. He always wanted to be where the crowds were. Steve, well, he liked fading into the background, going unnoticed by people who never had a kind word to say to him._

_“How was it?” Bucky asked earnestly as he trailed after Steve up the steps to the Rogers’ tenement. Brooklyn was crawling with life and activity outside their little circle of morbidity. But Steve couldn’t help it, grief was clinging to his skin like week old bruises._

_“It was okay,” Steve admitted,.“She’s next to Dad.”_

_They came upon to door to Steve’s apartment as the blond reached into his threadbare pants’ pockets, searching for his key. He felt shabby and woefully underdressed in his best clothes that were, in fact, old hand-me-downs from Bucky before he had had his growth spurt years ago._

_“I was gonna ask-"_

_“I know what you’re gonna say, Buck,” Steve interrupted as he moved onto his jacket pocket when the search in his pants proved fruitless. Where were those keys? He swore he had put them in his pocket when he had locked up the door hours earlier._

_“I just…” he trailed off as he helplessly kept searching his person, looking for his keys. Honestly, how much of a waste of space was he that he couldn’t remember where he placed them? What would his ma say?_

_Bucky, however, was undeterred as he continued on imploringly. “We can put the couch cushions on the floor like when we were kids. It’ll be fun. All you gotta do is shine my shoes, maybe take out the trash.”_

_He sighed as he watched Steve struggle and turned, pale eyes immediately finding the not so strategically placed brick. He kicked it aside, revealing a shiny key underneath. He scooped it up and held it out to Steve like it was a lifeline._

_“C’mon,” Bucky quietly pleaded. Steve felt a sob trying to work itself out of his throat as he clamped his mouth down tightly, holding his emotions in. Real men didn’t cry like babies when a friend offered kindness._

_“Thank you, Buck,” Steve forced out as he raised his head to look up into Bucky’s eyes. “But I can get by on my own.”_

_Bucky bit his lip and shook his head. “The thing is…you don’t have to.”_

_He reached out, clapping Steve’s shoulder as he held on, his large, warm hand digging into Steve’s skin to physically remind the smaller man that he wasn’t alone. Bucky didn’t break eye contact as he declared in a heartfelt manner._

_“I’m with you to the end of the line, pal.”_

“He’s gonna be there, you know?” Sam’s voice ripped Steve out of his memory. The super-soldier turned his head to regard his newest ally – and _friend_ – fully.

“I know,” he responded truthfully. He did know. There was no way Hydra wouldn’t sick the Winter Soldier on Steve, particularly now that he knew _who_ the assassin was. They would make it as painful as possible for the Avenger.

“Whoever he used to be,” Sam reasoned. “The guy he is now, I don’t think he’s the kind you save. He’s the kind you stop.”

Sam was a good guy, a good man. Steve was lucky beyond belief that of all the joggers he could have befriended, Sam had been the one. And just like Steve, Sam had lost his own best friend. He had watched him fall and had felt just as helpless as Steve had on that blasted train in the Swiss Alps.

But unlike Riley, Bucky _survived._ He was here, alive. Steve was going to do everything in his power to free Bucky from Hydra and have him back at his side, where he belonged.

“I don’t know if I can do that,” he admitted because Sam deserved the truth after all the insane bullshit Steve had put him through in the last 24 hours.

“Well,” Sam cautioned. “He might not give you a choice. He doesn’t know you.”

 _Yet._ He didn’t know Steve yet. But Steve had an idea of how to jog his long lost friend’s memory.

“He will,” Steve declared adamantly. “Gear up, it’s time.”

He turned on his heel and began walking away, determination in every step.

“You gonna wear that?” Sam called out to his back. Steve felt his mouth curl up briefly as he continued walking.

“No,” he glanced at Sam over his shoulder. “If you’re gonna fight a war, you gotta wear a uniform.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was late, dawn only hours away, but Sharon couldn’t sleep. Not that the rickety little cot she had been given would allow for any kind of fruitful rest anyway. Instead, she was seated on it, back pressed against the wall, and legs stretched out. She was in a small dingy room, door open as she listened to the various creaks and groans of the bunker.

Fury was resting, building up his strength. Sam was overlooking his wings and pulling together tactical gear for tomorrow. Natasha and Maria had secluded somewhere together, going over contingency after contingency like the hardened spies they were.

And Steve…well, Sharon hadn’t seen Steve in hours.

So it was just Sharon, alone as her shoulder throbbed mildly. The morphine was beginning to wear off, but Sharon was too drained of energy to get up and try and track Doctor Dellucci down. Sharon continued to breathe in and out evenly as she glanced down, staring at the cell phone gripped tightly in her right hand.

It was a simple flip phone, its only asset being that it was untraceable. Sharon had begged it off of Natasha earlier but had yet to open it to call the intended recipient. Sharon didn’t like being sentimental, in this line of work it could get one killed easily. But from time to time, Sharon couldn’t help but break the rules. Right now, she was sentimental and there was one person she wanted to call.

Finally, working up the courage, she pressed in a familiar number and listened as it began ringing.

_“This is Agent Toussaint.”_

Bri’s voice, a slow, southern drawl, was sleepy and warm even as she tried to present herself as an imposing agent of SHIELD. Sharon smiled immediately as her protégé’s voice echoed through her ear. Bri had graduated from the Academy this past January and had found her place as a field agent within SHIELD. She was still new and green and only a Level 1, but she had so much potential.

It really was a shame that it had been wasted on the likes of Hydra.

Luckily though, for Sharon’s mental health, Bri was currently on assignment in Cairo with Kate Bishop. Both would be spared the impending fallout of SHIELD/Hydra. Sharon was glad, she didn’t want either woman in the shit-show that was about to commence.

“Hey, B,” Sharon got out weakly. She heard Bri suck in a sharp breath before the younger woman hissed into the phone.

 _“Sharon,”_ it was impressive how Bri’s voice expressed both immense anger and concern with a single word. _“_ Where _the hell are you? What’s going on?”_

Sharon sighed as she leaned her head back against the concrete wall. “I’m sorry, B, but I can’t tell you. I just wanted to check in, make sure you’re safe.”

_“It’s not me that I’m worried about.”_

Sharon chuckled wetly, feeling tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. She kept them in though. She needed to be strong to do what she was about to do. If she survived this, then she would allow herself to cry.

“You need to look after yourself, okay?” she insisted strongly as she gripped the phone tightly. “That’s a direct order.”

 _"Sharon…please, just tell me where you are,”_ Bri pleaded, her voice cracking over the line. _“I’ll come find you. Whatever is going on, I can help you.”_

Sharon adamantly shook her head, even if the gesture was a wasted one. There was no way, in a thousand years, that she’d ever allow Bri to get caught up in this mess. It was bad enough they had dragged a good, decent guy like Sam into this, but she wouldn’t do it to Bri. She cared too much about the kid.

“Not this time, B. I just…” Sharon trailed off as she struggled to find the right words. “I wanted to tell you, in case everything goes south, that you were the best rookie an agent could have asked for. Okay? Don’t forget that.”

_“Sharon-"_

“Goodbye, Bri.”

Sharon snapped the phone shut and then slammed it on the ground for good measure as it snapped in half, completely broken. She let her head fall back and continued staring at the wall listlessly. She was only pulled out of her reveries when a shadowed figure passed by her door.

“Hey,” she got out and Steve paused in her doorway, glancing in. He nodded his head in greeting, leaning against the doorframe but not coming into the room. Sharon blinked as she glanced up at him. It was the first time she had seen him in hours.

“Where have you been?”

Steve sighed but answered honestly. “The Smithsonian.”

It was silent as Sharon stared up at the super-soldier with a confused expression etched across her tired face. 

Steve sheepishly rubbed his neck as he capitulated, “I had to, uh, get a suit.”

Sharon arched an eyebrow. “A suit? I’ve been looking through the caches here, there’s more than enough tactical gear…”

She trailed off as it finally clicked on _which_ suit he had apparently absconded with. “Ah. That was the suit you wore in the War, right?”

“Well, not _exactly_ the same one,” he deflected. “It is a replica, after all.”

Sharon’s gaze was solemn as she took him in. “You really think that will be enough for him to remember you?”

Steve shrugged, deceptively nonchalant, but Sharon could see the chinks in his perfectly built armor. She had spent the last two years learning those weaknesses, assessing them and doing her best to be a buffer between Steve and the world. She may have lied to him every day, but she had always gone above and beyond the call of duty to try and protect him.

“I have to try.”

Sharon nodded in understanding. She wasn’t going to waste her breath trying to dissuade Rogers. After two years she knew when he was being a stubborn mule that refused to be moved. Steve was going to try and reach out to Barnes no matter what. Sharon couldn’t blame him. She couldn’t even imagine what he was feeling.

But still…

“And if he doesn’t remember you?” she stared into his eyes. “Will you be able to take him down?”

Steve sighed, slumping against the doorframe. “I won’t let millions of people die.”

He didn’t answer her question, not really. But Sharon decided to cut the man some slack. He had had a rough couple of days. She looked away from him, finding it too hard to look into his eyes as she set her sights on the wall across from her. It was silent for a time before she broke through it.

“So this is it, huh?” she asked. “We’re going to destroy SHIELD.”

Steve exhaled deeply, pushing himself off the doorframe. Sharon felt rather than saw as he seated himself down next to her on the cot, it whined with the added weight. Though they weren’t touching, she could still feel his abnormal heat seeping into her side.

“It was never really SHIELD,” he said softly, looking down at his hands. “Not with Hydra growing within it, like a cancer.”

“Yeah,” she faintly agreed. “But it was still Peggy’s.”

Peggy’s name was sacred as she spoke it, a secret between the two that had finally come to light.

She had never envisioned speaking of Peggy with Steve, had forced herself to always be Agent 13 with the super-soldier. Convinced that there was no room in his life for Sharon Carter. Peggy had always been the bridge between them, separating them, but maybe now she was the thing that would bring them together. Because that final piece of the connection she had been searching for the last two years between the partners seemed to now slot into place, as if waiting for the right time all along.

“Peggy would understand. Hell,” Steve broke off with a small grin playing across his handsome face. “Peggy would be the first one in with a torch, ready to burn it all to the ground.”

Laughter unexpectedly escaped Sharon as the visual of her great aunt burning the Triskelion to the ground danced through her head.

“She would,” Sharon agreed, still chuckling. Her laughter faded as the two sat side by side, shoulders barely touching as they breathed. In all honesty, it was the most comfortable she had ever felt at Rogers’ side.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes. “For Peggy?”

Steve swallowed thickly before giving a single, steadfast nod.

“For Peggy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting intense for our intrepid heroes. And now the dream team of Sharon/Steve/Sam/Natasha has been born. If only Bucky would stop trying to kill them, then he could join in on the fun. 
> 
> Thank you for all the previous reviews! They are always a treat to receive. Please keep them up! They are so motivating and make my day.
> 
> Pic time!
> 
> Natasha's outfit:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/39138428424/in/dateposted-public/)


	9. I'll Be Falling All the Way Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharon’s laugh caught in her throat as Steve stepped into sight. He was completely outfitted in the replica from the Smithsonian. It was near perfect in its design in comparison to Howard Stark’s original suit. With the old school red, white and blue, Steve had stepped out of the black and white reels and into their modern, Technicolor world.
> 
> This was the Steve Rogers that Peggy had fallen in love with.

**_April 4 th, 2014_ **

**_Alexandria, VA_ **

 

This was it. Today was the day.

They were dismantling SHIELD.

Sharon felt faintly sick as she stood in her dinky little quarters within the underground bunker. Her shoulder felt pleasantly numb (Doctor Dellucci had been so kind to hit her up with morphine only an hour earlier) and was freshly bandaged. She was attired in neutral colored trousers and a buttoned-blouse, aligning with Agent 29’s business casual preferences. Several guns and other weapons were expertly hidden on her person and hardly distinguishable to the unlearned eye.

She hadn’t slept a wink the night before. Tiredness - when was the last time she had truly slept? She couldn’t remember. - was far-reaching, hollowing itself into her bones and thrumming beneath her skin like a dying battery. No matter how hard she turned her head she couldn’t dislodge the faint buzzing in her ear, like a persistent mosquito she just couldn’t swat away.

She was going to destroy SHIELD.

Since she was a small child, all she had ever wanted to be was a SHIELD agent. Not just because of Peggy, but because it was what her soul called her to be. The first time she had ever felt truly alive was when she had first stepped foot in the Academy, ready to begin the journey to agent. The euphoric success of her first mission had been more mind-blowing and satisfying than sex. Her highest peaks and lowest valleys had been at SHIELD.

SHIELD was where she had met Natasha, Maria, Barton, Bri, Steve…

Who was she without SHIELD? _What_ was she?

Hydra.

Sharon’s hands curled into fists, hard enough for her nails to begin cutting into her skin. She ignored the sting as the weight of her lie-filled life began pressing in all at once. She hadn’t known what SHIELD truly was, but that didn’t forgive her transgressions. For nearly eight years she had proudly touted herself as a SHIELD agent, when Hydra had been pulling the strings all along, twisting her this way and that.

Every mission, every target, every bottom line was inexcusably Hydra.

Which meant…when the mission had called for it, she had killed people, no questions asked, because she always followed the mission. Because she believed she was doing the right thing to protect others.

She had killed people…possibly _innocent_ people.

Sharon doubled over, bile rising up in her throat as she fought to keep it down. It burned like acid in her throat as she forced it down, gagging all the while, tears pooling in her eyes.

_Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod…_

She was a murderer.

 _They_ had made her a murderer.

Hatred flared throughout her body, tightening her resolve as she stood upright. Nausea still rolled through her stomach like churning waves, but she pushed through it. She was a mess, but she had one final mission to complete. After it was done, only then would she allow herself to shatter completely, break into a thousand pieces.

Sucking in a breath, she holstered her final gun and picked up a backpack of supplies, throwing it over her shoulder carelessly. She wandered through the bunker and found Natasha making final preparations near the entrance.

The redhead was in a cobalt dress with a matching blazer, looking very proper as she straightened the stiff jacket. She turned at the quiet sounds of Sharon’s footsteps. She nodded in greeting, lips thin and eyes hard.

“Hey,” she acknowledged in her trademark, raspy voice. Sharon came to her side, bobbing her head in response. Her eyes raked over her friend. The two hadn’t had much time for talking in the midst of their preparations. Natasha – even on a good day – was a hard nut to crack, keeping her innermost thoughts and feelings hidden beneath a façade of nonchalance and indifference. It had taken years for Sharon to understand even an inch of the depth that the assassin possessed in spades.

Still…it didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that Natasha was deeply troubled by the revelation of Hydra’s continued existence. Sharon gently knocked her shoulder against her friend’s and listened as Natasha huffed a small laugh under her breath before knocking back, a twinge harder than Sharon’s.

“So…” Sharon ventured before trailing off. It was always a gamble trying to get anything out of Natasha when she was unwilling. She was always too clever and saw the conversation coming a mile away. She typically enjoyed talking circles around whoever was attempting to get her to speak.

Natasha, eyes flashing, only arched an eyebrow in return. Sharon sighed. So this was how it was going to be…

“I can’t help but blame myself,” Sharon announced to the echoing silence of the bunker. The words soured on her tongue, leaving a lingering, faint bitterness throughout her mouth. Natasha had cocked her head and was watching Sharon intently through hooded eyes, face giving away nothing.

“I know it’s stupid,” Sharon continued as she brushed away imaginary lint on her shirt. “I mean, how could I have known that SHIELD was Hydra the whole time? But I’m Peggy’s niece, I feel like…”

She trailed off weakly as she hung her shoulders pathetically. “I don’t know, that I should have realized, deep down. I should have been better.”

A long silence consumed the two spies and just as Sharon was about to call it a dismal failure and retreat, Natasha surprised her by sighing as she turned her head to look straight ahead, avoiding Sharon’s gaze.

“When I first joined SHIELD, I thought I was going straight.” Natasha chuckled lowly to herself, though no amusement was present in her tone. “But I guess I just traded in the KGB for Hydra. I thought I knew whose lies I was telling, but…I guess I can’t tell the difference anymore.”

“Yeah,” Sharon softly agreed. “I know how you feel.”

Natasha turned her head, her piercing green eyes locking with Sharon’s somber gaze. Understanding passed between the two women before Natasha’s eyes hardened with vindictive fury.

“Let’s burn it all to the fucking ground.”

“Until there’s nothing left,” Sharon concurred as Natasha’s lips curled up dangerously, bloodlust flashing through her eyes. The two turned their heads as footsteps sounded from behind. Maria, in her SHIELD tactical suit, was leading as Sam and Steve trailed behind her. Sam had attired himself in battle gear, his wings strapped to his back.

Sharon smiled at the sight of the man. “Looking good, Birdman.”

Sam grinned toothily in response. “You’re damn right I look good.”

Sharon’s laugh caught in her throat as Steve stepped into sight. He was completely outfitted in the replica from the Smithsonian. It was near perfect in its design in comparison to Howard Stark’s original suit. With the old school red, white and blue, Steve had stepped out of the black and white reels and into their modern, Technicolor world.

This was the Steve Rogers that Peggy had fallen in love with.

This was the man who had been Sharon’s childhood hero until she had realized how much cooler Bucky Barnes was.

Now she was teaming up with her aunt’s wartime sweetheart to destroy her aunt’s legacy and fight against the same Bucky Barnes she had admired as a youth.

Man, her world was weird.

She would need so much therapy after this.

Steve nodded to her and Natasha as he strapped his shield to his back. “We good to go?”

The group of renegades nodded their heads and without much fanfare departed from the bunker and out into the morning sunlight. Maria, Steve, and Sam hightailed it into the woods, traveling to the Trisk by foot. Natasha slunk into a nondescript town car, ready to hijack Secretary Caldwell’s identity. Sharon slipped into a Jeep and drove back towards DC. Her car moved easily through early morning traffic as she came upon Steve’s Dupont Circle apartment building.

She parked the jeep, reached for her backpack and stealthily made her way into the building. As she came upon the fourth floor, her eyes were immediately drawn to Steve’s apartment. Agent 29 had kicked open the door in her haste to protect the super-soldier when the Winter Soldier had shot up the apartment. Yellow crime-scene tape was splattered across the open doorway.

She came to a stop outside Twenty-Nine’s door. She glanced up and down the hallway a final time before reaching up and knocking against the wooden door. She pressed her thumb against the peephole.

She heard faint movement on the other side of the door before it swung open, revealing a puzzled Agent 29. The brunette’s eyes widened in shock as she came face to face with Sharon.

“Agent 13,” she gasped out, “What the hell-"

Sharon didn’t give her time to finish as she struck first, firing a taser disk at the unsuspecting agent. It landed on Twenty-Nine’s clavicle before kicking in and shocking the agent. Her body convulsed, eyes rolling into the back of her head, as she fell backward into her apartment with a resounding thud. She landed hard on the floor, knocked out cold.

Sharon winced at the sight. “Ooh. That had to hurt.”

Sharon stepped over the unconscious body as she let herself into the apartment, shutting the door behind her. She leaned down, grabbing both of Twenty-Nine’s arms and dragged the spy further into her abode.

“Sorry about this, Twenty-Nine. It’s nothing personal,” Sharon whispered as she lowered her backpack, pulling out rope and duct tape. In a matter of minutes, she had the SHIELD agent hogtied and mouth covered with tape. She moved into the dining room, setting down her bag as she pulled out a case. She set it on the table and flipped it open, revealing the internal workings of the Nano Mask.

For a Photostatic Veil to work correctly two components were required: a DNA sample as well as a vocal sample. Sharon turned back to the knocked out Agent 29 as she pulled out a needle. She knelt down and unceremoniously jabbed the needle into the woman’s arm, drawing a small amount of blood. Sharon returned the case and methodically fired up the machine. She fed it the blood sample before pulling a SHIELD phone out of her pocket.

She held it up as Twenty-Nine’s voice filled the dining room. _“Agent 13, what the hell-"_

The machine beeped in compliance as it flashed to life, scanning Agent 29’s DNA and voice into the blank Nano Mask. Sharon watched with interest as the mask was created, Twenty-Nine’s face appearing atop the holographic cells. The mask finished and Sharon gingerly removed it, holding it up to the light. She gently pressed it against her face as the mask effortlessly fused to her skin, becoming almost unnoticeable to even herself. She pulled out a long, brown wig and after twirling up her blonde hair, set the wig atop her head, adjusting it this way and that. When that was finished, she walked to the nearest mirror and reached for the mask’s button as it came to life.

Her face disappeared right before her eyes as Agent 29 took over. “Well, I’ll be,” Sharon murmured to herself, and instead of the voice that had been intrinsically hers for years, she heard the sweet, Southern twang of Agent 29. She sounded like a weeping willow swaying in the summer breeze.

Sharon Carter was completely gone.

Sharon didn’t waste any more time at the apartment and left behind Twenty-Nine, pocketing the spy’s car keys along the way. She easily slipped into Twenty-Nine’s black Audi A3. It was nothing as luxurious or as exhilarating as her Stingray, but it would make do. Sharon kept her grip steel tight as she drove through the city.

Her breath caught in her throat as the Triskelion rose in front of her as she drove over the Theodore Roosevelt Bridge. She had never felt such unease at the sight of the Trisk. It had always been her safe place, but now it was where the enemy resided. She noticed distantly that security was heavier than usual, Hydra clearly on the lookout for Captain America.

Sharon kept her wits about her and was able to clear breezily through security, winking when Twenty-Nine’s ID was shoved back at her. She parked the Audi, reaching for a duffle bag as she ambled her way into the atrium.

Sun was shining through the raftered, glass ceiling. Sharon watched with focused eyes as SHIELD agents ventured this way and that. It was practically a normal day at the office, though an excited thrum could be felt throughout the building with the impending Insight launch.

Sharon couldn’t help but observe people she had been working alongside in the trenches for years as they moved past her, methodic in their routines. How many of them were Hydra? How many had looked her in the eye, smiled at her, and all the while were plotting the demise of everything she cared about? How many had she trusted?

How could she have ever been so foolish?

She was thankfully saved from the spiraling thoughts when Maria’s voice cracked through her ear. _“Carter, come in.”_

Sharon casually reached up to run a hand through the wig as she leaned subtly into her shoulder.

“I’m in the lion’s den,” she whispered imperceptibly and for one second she didn’t pay attention and knocked into someone walking past her.

She twirled, righting herself as she raised her head to apologize to the passersby. Her words immediately died in her throat as she realized who she had run into.

“Neal?”

What on earth was Neal doing here? He was supposed to be on assignment in Israel until the end of the month. Why was he at SHIELD? Had they recalled him? Had he come when he heard she went AWOL?

Neal, for his part, seemed unruffled by the slight collision, as he nodded blandly at Sharon.

“Agent 29.”

Sharon’s eyes widened as she realized that he didn’t see her as herself, but rather Agent 29. Sharon forced her racing heart to calm down as Neal looked over her with polite, passing interest.

“Shouldn’t you be at the Insight launch?” he mused in a friendly enough manner. “We need all hands on deck.”

Sharon nodded dumbly and forced her mouth to work correctly. “Yes, I’m heading there…right now.”

She pointed to where the launch was occurring and in her frazzled state, actually saluted Neal as she pivoted on her heel, quickly walking away.

Something was very wrong.

Sharon remained calm as she entered a locker room and secured the duffle bag in a cubby before following Maria’s instructions to the Insight launch control center. The room was a hive of activity of agents hunched over their monitors, preparing the launch of the three helicarriers.

Blasted in HD on the large screens read the time until the planned launch.

**2:34:19**

Sharon kept a cool head as she ventured to Agent 29’s designated station, nodding hello to passing agents. She seated herself and logged in as Twenty-Nine. As soon as she was in the system, she began sleuthing discreetly to see if she could do any damage to the system in order to could prevent the launch from ever occurring.

As she worked her eyes stayed steadily on Cameron Klein, the man in control of the launch sequence. When the time came to get those damned helicarriers into the sky, Klein would be the man to do it. If push came to shove, he would be her biggest obstacle to overcome.

Sharon didn’t know much about the man. She had seen him in passing, always giving him a kind smile when they were in the elevators together. He was a quiet, mousy kind of guy who got awkward whenever a pretty girl paid him even an inch of attention. It was hard to believe that the kid could be Hydra. He was too sweet of a guy, too sincere. But maybe he was just gullible enough to be swayed.

Sharon kept working but to no avail. And in no time at all nearly a half an hour had passed when the intercom system throughout the entirety of the Triskelion came to life, blasting Steve’s authoritative voice. Sharon froze, acting just as shocked as her fellow, unsuspecting peers.

_“Attention all SHIELD agents. This is Steve Rogers.”_

Gasps and murmurs broke out throughout launch control as all work came to an immediate cease. Sharon stood, looking as lost as everyone else as Steve continued.

_“You've heard a lot about me over the last few days, some of you were even ordered to hunt me down. But I think it's time you know the truth. SHIELD is not what we thought it was, it's been taken over by Hydra.”_

The room instantly became a vacuum at the revelation that still shook Sharon to her core. She watched with satisfaction as disbelief and shock crossed many of the faces standing in the room. That wasn’t acting, the reactions were real. Not everyone was Hydra in disguise.

“ _Alexander Pierce is their leader. The STRIKE and Insight crew are Hydra as well. I don't know how many more, but I know they're in the building. They could be standing right next to you.”_

Suspicious gazes were cast as everyone began eyeing one another up, searching for the lies hidden within.

_“They almost have what they want: absolute control. They shot Nick Fury and it won't end there. If you launch those helicarriers today, Hydra will be able to kill anyone that stands in their way, unless we stop them.”_

Sharon felt chills sweep up her spine as Steve beseeched solemnly. _“I know I'm asking a lot, but the price of freedom is high, it always has been, and it's a price I'm willing to pay. And if I'm the only one, then so be it. But I'm willing to bet I'm not.”_

The intercom went dead as an uneasy silence filled the vast chamber of the control room. Sharon’s gaze moved towards Klein and the poor guy seemed to have the world resting entirely on his shoulders as he sat, slumped at his console.

The silence was shattered when the door burst open, announcing the arrival of Rumlow and an outfit of STRIKE. Sharon immediately felt a flare of rage as the bastard marched into the room. Her fingers wrapped around the FNX-45 hidden at her hip as the STRIKE Commander came to a stop at Klein’s station.

“Prepare the launch sequence,” Rumlow tersely ordered, “Send those ships up now.”

Klein fidgeted as his eyes darted apprehensively throughout the room. It was so still and silent one could hear a pin drop. The tension was at an all-time high as Rumlow scowled down at the lowly technician.

“Is there a problem?”

“I’m…” Klein stuttered, shaking his head as he looked anywhere but at Rumlow.

“Is there a problem?” Rumlow repeated, voice raised with agitation. Sharon kept her eyes locked on the situation and where the rest of STRIKE was scattered throughout the space as she assessed every possible contingency. She had a feeling this was going to get ugly quick.

“I’m sorry, sir…” Klein stammered out, hands shaking on the keyboard. He looked like he wanted to cry as Rumlow remained a menacing presence at his shoulder. Klein stared helplessly ahead before sucking in a breath, and in a display of breathtaking courage, got out clearly.

“I’m not gonna launch those ships.” He nearly buckled but remained steady as he stared ahead. “Captain’s orders.”

Rumlow was quick to draw a pistol, aiming it at Klein’s curly head of hair. Sharon sprang into action, advancing forward as she unsheathed her pistol and drew it on Rumlow.

“Like he said,” everyone in the room immediately had weapons drawn as it became a heated standoff between STRIKE and true, loyal SHIELD agents. Sharon couldn’t help but feel grimly satisfied as she stated with conviction, “Captain’s orders.”

Rumlow growled as he glared at her out of the corner of his eyes. “You picked the wrong side, Agent.”

Sharon couldn’t help but smirk as she reached up, turning off the nano mask, revealing her true face beneath. She peeled it away and shook her head, the wig falling off as her blonde tresses fell down her shoulders.

“Depends on where you’re standing.”

Pure, unadulterated hatred blazed through Rumlow’s eyes as he realized who he was truly speaking to. But it disappeared and was replaced with a cool expression as Rumlow chuckled lowly to himself. Sharon felt her grip tightening on her gun, unease spreading throughout her body.

“Oh, Thirteen.” He shook his head, still laughing. “You just love following Cap’s orders, don’t you?”

He turned to her fully, leering at her mockingly. “Tell me, I’ve always wanted to know, just how far does your _partnership_ go?”

All she wanted to do was punch that smarmy grin off of his motherfucking face until he was bleeding. “Drop the gun, Rumlow.”

“I mean,” the commander continued on. “Does he reward you? Or are you more into punishment?”

“Listen,” Sharon hissed. “You piece of shit-"

Rumlow used her distraction to his advantage as he whipped out a knife out of nowhere and slashed her right arm. Pain erupted throughout the limb as blood began gushing out of the cut. Sharon dropped her gun in surprise, a move the STRIKE Commander saw coming. He lunged for her gun as rapid gunfire erupted in the room between STRIKE and SHIELD agents. Bodies were dropping in quick succession.

Sharon, sprawled on the ground, watched as Rumlow aimed the gun once again at the back of Klein’s head. Moving quickly, she kicked out Klein’s chair, sending the technician surging out of harm’s way. Not wanting to wait for Rumlow’s retribution, Sharon rolled underneath the desk, picking up a stray firearm along the way.

She sprung to her feet, gun following Rumlow as he raced out of the room. Bullets were still flying as Sharon turned to the large screens, seeing what they now displayed.

**OVERRIDE**

“Shit,” she swore, her heart plummeting at the sight. With a shaking hand, she reached up for her comm. “Steve, I couldn’t stop the launch. The helicarriers are ascending.”

 _“Don’t worry about it,”_ the super-soldier reassured. _“Move to Romanoff’s location.”_

“On it,” she replied as she glanced down at her bleeding arm. It was a long, nasty cut; dirty just like Rumlow. It ached with every movement, throbbing distantly just like her shoulder.

Sharon sighed as she took off towards the locker room.

Just another day at the office.

 

* * *

 

 

The atmosphere in the World Security Council was tense as the defenseless members were herded together, being buffered in by armed STRIKE members.

Alexander Pierce stood at the windows, watching the launching helicarriers that had begun firing at the sky. Captain America was surely among the chaos as well. Even within the thick, bulletproof windows of the Triskelion, the echoing booms of the helicarriers’ canons could be heard thundering in the distance. Pierce kept his cell phone cradled in his grasp as he turned away, walking back towards his fellow secretaries.

“Let me ask you a question,” he mused idly as he walked to a table, placing his cell phone down and picking up a glass of champagne instead as he pivoted towards Secretary Singh.

“What if Pakistan marched into Mumbai tomorrow, and you knew they were going to drag your daughters into a soccer stadium for execution?”

Without breaking eye contact he handed the man the glass of champagne as he continued his monologue. “And you could just stop it with a flick of a switch. Wouldn’t you?”

His gaze encompassed all of the WSC members. “Wouldn’t you all?”

Secretary Singh was steadfast in his remark. “Not if it was your switch.”

He tossed aside the glass of champagne as it shattered on the concrete floor. A thick silence followed, broken only by the unnerving chortle of Pierce as Rollins wordlessly handed him a pistol. Without blinking he raised it to the center of Singh’s head.

That was when everything turned on its head.

Secretary Caldwell, out of nowhere, kicked Singh out of the way. Before Pierce could even blink, she was in his space, forcing his firing arm back as she landed a fierce throat punch. His head reeled back as she fired a taser disk at the nearest STRIKE. He convulsed before collapsing. Caldwell twisted Pierce’s arm and flung his gun like a projectile at Rollins, who went down easily.

She shoved Pierce aside as another STRIKE came for her. She struck him across the face before landing a potent knee kick to his side. She used all of her weight to flip the man to the ground where he laid sprawled out.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Rollins attempting to rise to his feet. Before he could there, she was at his side, slamming his face down onto the glass table. Feeling another STRIKE coming up from behind, she pivoted and landed an elbow strike at his back, before grabbing onto his vest and forcing him to the ground. As he laid out she collected his pistol and stood, aiming right for Pierce.

All of her fellow secretaries stared at her in shock. She didn’t take her eyes off Pierce as she reached up to her temple.

“I’m sorry,” her voice was oddly computerized as she spoke, her face shuttering away right before their eyes. She stripped off the nano mask and shook off her wig as vibrant, red hair fell down.

“Did I step on your moment?” Natasha mockingly inquired, her lips curling up as Pierce gaped at her. He found his composure fast though as he greeted her coolly.

“Agent Romanoff.”

“Secretary Pierce.” Her tone was saccharinely insincere. Natasha kept the man in her eyesight as she nodded towards Secretary Houng.

“Secretary Houng, if you would please pick up the pistol near your right foot.”

Houng startled but did as he was told. Natasha beckoned him to come to her side and nodded towards Pierce.

“Watch him closely, he’s a slippery one.”

She only stepped away when Houng raised his gun, keeping it trained on Pierce’s smug face. Natasha sauntered away to the computer system. She hacked in, using all of Fury’s protocols. She was madly typing away, the large screens displaying her handy work.

Secretary Rockwell watched the scene, perplexed. “What are you doing?”

“She’s disabling security protocols and dumping all the secrets onto the internet,” Pierce cut in, watching with steely eyes as he stepped forward, Houng a shadow at his back.

“Including Hydra’s,” Natasha dryly retorted, her eyes still on the screen as her fingers flew over the keys.

“And SHIELD’s,” Pierce persisted. “If you do this, none of your past will remain hidden. Not Budapest, not Osaka. Not the children’s ward.”

Pierce watched with tempered glee as Natasha’s fingers momentarily paused before she was back to hacking. Pierce crept closer, digging the knife in deeper.

“Are you sure you’re ready for the world to see you as you really are?”

Natasha’s eyes were round and probing as she peered at the head of Hydra. “Are you?”

With a few more clicks, **RESTRICTED ACCESS** flashed across the large computer screen. Pierce smirked as he observed the screen.

“Disabling the encryption is an executive order,” he stated in a superior manner. “It takes _two_ Alpha Level members.”

“Don’t worry,” Natasha reassured from her position. “Company’s coming.”

Everyone in the room turned their heads as the distant sound of a helicopter filled the space. Swiveling around, everyone witnessed the sight of a black helicopter landing on a helipad outside. Pierce wandered forward in a stupor as a figure cloaked entirely in black emerged from the chopper.

Nick Fury entered the World Security Council, leather jacket billowing in the wind as he immediately locked eyes with his former mentor.

Pierce’s face – only for a moment – was painted with genuine shock before it smoothed over and he presented himself as poised as ever.

“Did you get my flowers?” he quipped with a jeer, watching as Fury’s perpetual scowl deepened. “I’m glad you’re here, Nick.”

Fury only shook his head as he ambled closer to Pierce. “Really? Cause I thought you had me killed.”

“You know how the game works,” Pierce volleyed back unapologetically.

“So why make me head of SHIELD?” Fury countered coldly, no love lost between the once close friends.

“Because you were the best and most ruthless man I ever met,” Pierce admitted truthfully.

Fury’s frown increased as he defended himself. “I did what I did to protect people.”

“Our enemies are your enemies, Nick,” Pierce insisted. “Disorder, war. It's just a matter of time before a dirty bomb goes off in Moscow, or an EMP fries Chicago. Diplomacy?” Pierce scoffed before soldiering on. “Holding action, a Band-Aid. And you know where I learned that: Bogota.”

Fury stiffened at the admission, his one good eye momentarily widening before he closed himself off.

“You didn't ask, you just did what had to be done. I can bring order to the lives of seven _billion_ people by sacrificing twenty million. It's the next step, Nick, if you have the courage to take it.”

“No,” Nick declared somberly as he shoved Pierce towards the screen. “I have the courage not to.”

The two came to a halt before the retinal scanner as Natasha emerged from behind the computer, pistol aimed for Pierce’s temple if he attempted anything untoward.

 _“Retinal scanner active,”_ the computer announced.

“You don’t think we wiped your clearance from the system?” Pierce inquired smartly.

“I know you erased my password, probably deleted my retinal scan, but if you want to stay ahead of me, Mr. Secretary,” Fury leaned in, removing his famed eyepatch to reveal the grisly scarring of his injured eye. “You need to keep both eyes open.”

Fury pushed Pierce forward as both men turned to the scanner, their data being taken.

 _“Alpha Level confirmed,”_ the computer chirped. _“Encryption codes accepted. Safeguards removed.”_

And just like that, 70 years worth of Hydra’s secrets and intel were handed over to the entire world on a silver platter. The screens flashed as file after file was unleashed onto the public. Finally, the screen read:

**TRANSFER COMPLETE**

“Done,” Natasha announced as her cell phone pinged. She looked down at the screen idly, right hand still wrapped around a pistol.

“And it’s trending,” she disclosed with a coy smile. Her moment of triumph was short-lived, as, during the transfer, Pierce had gotten his hand on his cell phone. Suddenly the other secretaries had sparks erupting from their chests as they dropped to the floor, dead.

Natasha and Nick rounded on Pierce, guns drawn, but his thumb was steadily over his phone and he had his sights on the redheaded assassin.

“Unless you want a two-inch hole in your sternum, I’d put that down,” he warned, nodding to the badge on the lapel of her jacket that had been handed to her as she had entered the Triskelion.

“That was armed the moment you pinned it on.”

Natasha exchanged defeated looks with Nick before begrudgingly setting her pistol down on the table.

They were now playing by Pierce’s rules.

 

* * *

 

 

The Triskelion was in complete turmoil with agents running this way and that, alarms blaring and red lights flashing throughout the building as Sharon emerged from the locker room, clothed in her white tactical suit. She had hastily wrapped her bleeding arm but she could already see it staining through her ivory Kevlar.

She was making her way through the labyrinth that was the Triskelion, attempting to reach the World Security Council, when she rounded a hallway corner and ran smack into a firm body.

She bounced back, eyes going wide as she recognized the man before her.

“Sharon?” Neal blinked in a confused fashion as he eyed his girlfriend. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Neal,” she let out a relieved breath at the sight of her unharmed boyfriend. “Thank God. I need your help.”

She stepped forward but was halted as Neal reached up, gripping her shoulders and keeping her at arm’s length as he regarded her.

“Help with what?” he asked urgently, eyes imploring. Sharon really couldn’t see how he could be so nonchalant when their world was falling apart around them. The Triskelion was trembling with the reverberations of the helicarriers guns and cannons that they were firing a mile a minute outside. God, she hoped Steve and Sam were safe.

“With Hydra,” she stressed, her brows furrowed incredulously. “Natasha and Fury have Pierce cornered in the World Security Council.”

Neal’s expression shuttered with disbelief as his fingers sank unrelenting into her shoulders, the hold turning desperate as Sharon fidgeted uncomfortably.

“Fury’s alive?” His expression was nearly unreadable, but something seemed off about the man Sharon had been sharing her bed with for more than two years. His eyes were roaming shiftily throughout the abandoned hallway.

“How is that possible…” he whispered to himself, seeming almost to forget that Sharon was standing right in front of him. Sharon shook herself free of his hold as she moved to sidestep the shell-shocked agent.

“It doesn’t matter, they need our help.” 

She had only taken one step forward when he lashed out, hand attaching to her arm, immediately halting her progression. Suddenly the tension in the room ratcheted up to an extreme level as Sharon felt a chill sweep up her spine. She felt frozen in place, her eyes staring ahead, as the grip on her arm turned bruising.

“I’m sorry, Sharon,” Neal’s voice was ice cold. “I can’t let you get anywhere near Pierce.”

Sharon sucked in a breath as an immense feeling of _wrongness_ consumed her body. With a frantic heart, she forced herself to turn towards Neal. He was like a stranger before her, expression masked with a toe-curling cruelty that she had never known him to exhibit. He wasn’t the man she had let into her life, increment by increment.

“Oh, God,” she whispered with mortification as the truth of what Neal really was slammed into her like a freight train. “You’re Hydra.”

An ugly smirk marred Neal’s once handsome face. “Guilty as charged.”

“You sick, son of a-"

“Ah, ah,” Neal interrupted as he hauled Sharon towards him, their bodies pressed sickeningly close together. She was revolted at the feeling of his once familiar body tilt towards her.

His grin only intensified as he leaned in close. “Are we having our first fight?”

In that moment, she hated every single thing about him. She hadn’t loved him, they never made promises to one another, but _dammit_ she had let in him into a part of her life, she had _trusted_ him.

And he had been playing her from the very beginning.

Feeling anger like she had never felt before, she threw her head back, hacked up as much saliva as she could and aimed a potent spit right for his treacherous eyes. He reeled back his head and she used his distraction to her advantage to deliver a brutal head-butt. He staggered backward as she unleashed a ferocious uppercut to the man.

As he raised his head a moment later, she noted with satisfaction that a gash was forming across his forehead as blood pooled freely down his face. He only chuckled as he dabbed absentmindedly at the cut.

“You know,” he mused genially as the two began circling one another cautiously. “Working for Hydra has a lot of perks. The best one?”

His eyes flashed gleefully as they locked gazes with her. “Fucking the great Peggy Carter’s niece.”

She blitzed him as the two met each other, blow for blow. For every jab or hit she landed, he was right there, getting in one of his own. Her rage, heartbreak, and astonishment fueled her as she attacked him with everything she was worth. She was fighting like a true agent of SHIELD.

With a fierce hook kick, she had the man on the floor and was punching his face in. His face was covered with grotesque blood as he grinned up toothily up at her.

“Is that all you got,” he forced out between panted breaths. “Agent 13?”

Before she could land another blow, he shoved her off of him. She fell onto her back and rolled up into a perfect kip-up that had her back on her feet. She reached for the gun at her hip but didn’t even have a moment to herself as Neal viciously charged her. He grabbed her around the middle, picking her up only to fling her to the concrete floor. The discarded gun smacked to the floor, sliding away.

Sharon’s body thudded as the wind was knocked entirely out of her. Her momentarily paralysis allowed Neal to straddle her, effectively blocking off access to her legs. Sharon came to her senses just as she saw the flash of a knife coming down upon her. She flung her arms up as they wrapped around his hands, precariously halting the weapon right above her torso. It was an epic tug-of-war between the two as the knife volleyed back and forth.

Sharon’s hands were frantically trembling as she tried futilely to push the weapon away. Her strength briefly faltered, giving Neal the leverage he needed to drive the knife into her left shoulder, the same shoulder that had been shot at only the day before.

Sharon cried out in agonizing pain as the knife was dug in deep, disrupting all of Doctor Dellucci’s hard work. Fire erupted across her skin as her body wept in protest. Sharon’s pain made her lose focus as Neal’s large hands wrapped along the long, pale column of her neck.

He squeezed mercilessly as he raised her head only to slam it back down to the floor. He repeated this action several times, each time pressing harder and harder on her neck. Her vision was blacking out at the corners of her peripheries as her body screamed for withheld oxygen. Her hands scrambled deliriously, trying to shake his chokehold.

Neal only chuckled as he watched her writhe beneath him, the fight ebbing slowly out of her body. When he thought she was nearly finished he rolled his hips into her's, nuzzling her ear.

“God, this is better than sex. How does the saying go?” he mocked, his breath beguilingly caressing her. “Oh, yeah. Hail Hydra.”

What he didn’t know, was that Carter women never stopped fighting, even when the odds were stacked against them. Defeat in the face of the enemy was not an option.

Quick as a cobra, her right hand lashed out, nails slashing across his face. He howled in pain, releasing her throat as she greedily sucked in mouthfuls of air. She got him with a dirty right hook as he faltered backward. She rocked her feet up and kicked him off of her.

Her eyes immediately looked to where the pistol was resting, only feet away. She surged to her feet and took a running start to the firearm. Neal latched onto her ankle, forcing her to the ground. She landed hard on her stomach, her fingers only inches away from the pistol.

She could almost reach it if she just…

She was jerked back harshly by her ankle, moving farther and farther away from the gun and towards Neal. She kicked him wildly in the face as he sputtered back. Free of him at last, she desperately army-crawled towards the gun.

Her fingers had only just wrapped around it when Neal roared from behind her, ready to tear her to pieces. She rolled onto her stomach and without missing a beat, raised the gun and fired.

The bullet nailed him right between the eyes. His body jerked back, the life immediately slipping out of his eyes as they hollowed out and his body fell back to the ground.

The echo of the bullet rang throughout the empty hallway, as Sharon’s body remained tense. Her gun was still aimed at Neal, afraid he’d rise from the dead like some kind of unstoppable Michael Myers.

But he didn’t rise up or even shift. His chest wasn’t moving and crimson blood was pooling out of his once beautiful head.

Finally, Sharon allowed herself to relax as the gun slipped from her hand as she laid out across the floor.

Silence encompassed her.

 

* * *

 

 

Things were just not going Steve’s way.

Both he and Sam had succeeded in securing Alpha and Bravo lock helicarriers. Now they only needed to get aboard the third and final one and maybe, just maybe, they’d get out of this alive.

 _“Six minutes.”_ Maria brusquely reminded Steve through the comms. He was sprinting across the second helicarrier, and even without looking over his shoulder, he could hear members of the Insight crew, preparing a bazooka just for him.

Lovely.

Raising his glove he called out, “Hey, Sam, I’m gonna need a ride.”

 _“Roger!”_ Sam replied. _“Let me know when you’re ready.”_

Without a second thought, Steve threw himself off the helicarrier just as an explosion blasted behind him, sending up smoke and flames. His body went instantly weightless as he plummeted to the murky Potomac below.

“I just did!”

Air whistled past Steve as he continued to drop, closer and closer to the Insight hangars. His body hurtled and spiraled downward as Sam, a distant figure above him, dived down for the super-soldier. He grabbed Steve’s hands and with a strained yell, used all available forward thrust to fly the two to the third helicarrier.

He dropped both of them not so gracefully on the deck of the helicarrier as he stumbled forward, wings retracting back into the pack.

“You know,” Sam complained. “You’re a lot heavier than you look.”

Steve only shrugged lightly in return as he marched forward. “I had a big breakfast.”

He hadn’t two steps when a high powered blur rammed into him, sending Steve careening over the side of the helicarrier and disappearing from sight.

That left Sam with the Winter Soldier.

“Steve!” Sam hollered as his wings emerged. Sam moved to dive off the helicarrier after the falling captain but was stopped as the Winter Soldier latched onto one of the wings, flinging Sam back like a ragdoll. Sam regained his balance in the air as his two firearms emerged from his armor. He fired down at the assassin, not caring that it was Steve’s long lost bestie.

The Winter Soldier performed a corkscrew flip before withdrawing. Sam flew forward, ready to go to Steve’s aid when his progress was immediately halted. A projectile was sticking through his wing and using all of his inhuman strength, the Winter Soldier was able to haul Sam to the deck. Sam smacked onto the ground hard, as the assassin once again tugged, ripping off Sam’s right wing.

Sam struggled to his feet as Barnes charged him and delivered a savage high kick to the VA counselor’s chest, pushing Sam off the helicarrier. He plummeted through the sky, wind whipping past him.

He ejected the other wing as he continued falling, tugging on his parachute. It released just in the nick of time as Sam landed not so gently on the rooftop of the Triskelion. High up above in the sky, Steve was holding onto dear life as he dangled above the Potomac.

He was pulling himself up into a crevice as Sam’s voice crackled urgently through the comm.

_“Cap? Cap, come in! Are you okay?”_

“Yeah, I’m here. I’m still on the helicarrier.” Steve looked around. “Where are you?”

Sam exhaled heavily across the line. _“I’m grounded, the suit’s down. Sorry, Cap.”_

A heaviness settled over Steve at the thought of going up against Bucky alone, without Sam as backup and the voice of reason.

He would just have to do this on his own.

“Don’t worry,” the super-soldier buoyed. “I got it.”

He took off in a run and received no trouble from the Insight crew as he found his way to the glass dome beneath the helicarrier’s center. Steve jogged across the gangway, only coming to a standstill when he saw who was awaiting him.

Bucky.

He wasn’t muzzled this time, his face on clear display. It made sense really, he already knew Bucky’s identity, there was no reason for Hydra to conceal the face that haunted Steve’s nightmares. A pistol was held loosely in his hand.

He was as still and as imposing as he had been on the highway. There was no recognition in his eyes as they peered vacantly at the Avenger. Not even the replica suit from their Howling Commandos days was bringing forth even a glimmer of emotion.

“People are gonna die, Buck. I can’t let that happen,” Steve implored, but his words only deflected off his friend. Steve’s free hand tightened into a fist as emotions bubbled beneath the surface of his long-held stoicism.

“Please,” Steve begged for conceivably the first time in his impossibly long life. “Don’t make me do this.”

When his words fell on death ears, Steve forced conviction and resolve into his body as he tensed into a fighting stance. He brought his hand up and let his shield fly free. It ricocheted off Bucky’s metal arm and swerved lopsidedly back to Steve. Steve raised it just in time as bullets collided with the Vibranium.

Steve surged forward, ducking and diving as he followed the trajectory of Bucky’s bullets. On one turn he wasn’t quick enough, and a bullet grazed his left side. Steve winced at the impact but ignored the dull throb of pain.

As Bucky lunged at him, Steve slammed him forcibly with the shield, sending Bucky back several feet as he landed in a heap. He rose to his feet, unsheathing a knife along the way, as he parried dangerously towards Steve. The two fought, blow by blow, in a fierce battle of super strength. They jabbed and kicked at one another with a quick and efficient ferocity.

One blow of the shield sent Bucky flying back. Steve used his momentary high ground to type in the passcode for the targeting blade system. The screen flashed green with confirmation as the glass case opened before him.

Before he could remove the Insight chip, Bucky was back at him. The two volleyed back blows as Steve dodged a knife to his sternum. He jumped up, landing a kick to Bucky’s chest that had the assassin falling back. Steve turned back to the targeting system, as he swiped the correct chip. He pulled out the one Maria gave him when a noise sounded behind him.

He pivoted, raising his shield just in time to avoid a direct punch from Bucky’s bionic arm. The shield rattled beneath the powerful blow. Steve pushed all his weight into the shield, forcing Bucky back several steps as he collided with the railing. Steve went on the offensive with the shield as Bucky expertly evaded the Vibranium weapon. Steve landed an elbow strike to Bucky’s face that had his head reeling back.

Bucky let out a howl of frustration as he rushed Steve, using all his weight to topple both of them over the railing to the metal structure below. They landed hard and the chip in Steve’s grip was jostled out of his hand, sliding down the curved slope of the beam they were on. Steve’s shield had gone flying when they fell down and was now resting far off on the domed glass.

Both Steve and Bucky pushed themselves to their feet as they collided in a series of fast and ruthless blows that would cripple normal men. Steve was flipped off his feet as Bucky backhanded him with the metal arm. Steve slid down the beam, grabbing the chip along the way and securing it in his hand. Bucky followed after him, as the two continued dueling.

The chip once again got away from Steve as he jumped down to the glass below. He took off running for the chip and was tripped up when his shield crashed into his shoulder from behind. It sent him sprawling to the glass. He rolled to his side to see Bucky standing there, brandishing a pistol. Steve lunged for his shield and curled up behind it as bullets deflected off the shield.

When the gun was empty, Steve jumped to his feet and flung it at Bucky, who once against avoided impact due to the metal arm. A knife was once again in play as Bucky struck out, diving it into Steve’s unprotected shoulder.

Steve cried out in pain as he slammed his head into Bucky, trying to dislodge his friend’s unforgiving grip. Bucky threw Steve into the nearest beam as the Avenger sagged against it, hissing as he pulled out the bloodied knife.

He wasted no time in tackling Bucky, who was crawling towards the chip. He got a secure grip on Bucky’s neck and lifted the assassin clear off the ground, his legs kicking wildly as he struggled to breathe. Steve flipped him to the ground, getting him on his back as he pushed down on Bucky’s neck, trapping Bucky’s flesh arm, which was holding onto the chip. 

“Drop it!” Steve ordered as Bucky continued to fight him, even in his poor position. Steve pushed harder on his neck. “Drop it!”

Seeing no other choice, Steve twisted Bucky’s arm as it broke at the elbow. The snap of the break echoed as distinctly as a gunshot as Bucky screamed in agony. Steve’s heart clenched painfully, but he held on steadfastly. Seeing that broken limbs wouldn’t deter Bucky’s mission, Steve forced both of them to the ground. Bucky was atop him as Steve held him firmly in a chokehold. He forced down Bucky’s metal arm, giving his friend no leverage to use against him.

Bucky struggled against the stronghold, squirming fruitlessly. Taking far longer than Steve ever wanted, Bucky finally went limp in his arms, his hand releasing the chip. Steve rolled him off of him and swept up the chip as he ran back to the center of the dome.

 _“One minute,”_ Maria intoned through the comms as Steve swung up, flipping himself onto the beam above. He sprinted up the curve and fell to his knees as a bullet pierced his left thigh. Glancing over his shoulder, he found a conscious Bucky with a smoking pistol in his grasp.

Steve pushed back the white-hot pain as he continued climbing up and up towards the targeting system. Bullets recoiled all around him. He struggled onto the gangway as Maria once again chimed in urgently.

_“Thirty seconds, Cap!”_

“Stand by,” Steve grasped out as he limped towards the glass case, reaching for the chip. He raised his hand to place it in its correct spot when a bullet embedded itself into his stomach. The force of the wound had Steve collapsing to the ground. His body was wracked with tremors as he stared down at his torso; thick, red blood staining the uniform.

The pain was unbearable as he pushed himself to his knees, his body crying out with every breath he took. He trembling reached out, hands shaking, as he pushed the chip into its slot.

“Charlie lock.”

He could hear Maria’s sigh of relief through the comm. _“Okay, Cap, get out of there.”_

Steve shook his head as he slumped back, his whole body weakening by the minute as blood continued pouring out of his wounds.

“Fire now,” he urged Maria.

_“But, Steve-"_

“Do it! Do it now!”

What could have been seconds or even an eternity later the helicarrier began shaking as missiles attacked it. The structure all around Steve began falling apart as the helicarrier kept taking on heavy fire.

A startled scream from below caught Steve’s attention as he saw Bucky pinned beneath the wreckage.

Steve’s mission was complete.

There was only one last thing to do.

 

* * *

 

 

In the World Security Council, the three lone standing people were awarded a breathtaking view of the three Insight Helicarriers tearing each other apart as they fired uncontrollably upon one another.

Pierce’s eyes were wide as he stared at the scene taking placing above the Potomac in horror. All of his hard work, what was meant to be the crown jewel of his achievements, was nothing more than fire and bent metal.

“What a waste,” he ruminated to himself, lost in his thoughts.

“Still on the fence about Rogers’ chances?” Natasha inquired as she took in the sight herself. Rogers had come through, just like always.

Pierce scoffed as he tugged on Natasha’s arm. “Time to go, Councilwoman. This way, come on. You’re going to fly me out of here.”

He gestured to the helicopter outside as he prodded Natasha forward.

“You know,” Fury mused as he continued watching the helicarriers cannibalize one another. “There was a time I would have taken a bullet for you.”

He didn’t have to look to know that Pierce was smirking as he retorted, “You already did. You will again when it’s useful.”

As Pierce verbally sparred with Fury, he didn’t notice Natasha sneak one of her Widow Bites out of the sleeve of her jacket. She pinched it between her fingers, pressing down hard, as an electrical shock swelled through her body, disabling Pierce’s pin, and sending her to the floor.

Pierce stared down in shock at the downed agent as his phone pinged a warning.

_Rebooting…armed._

He turned just as the first bullet crashed into his chest. Fury fired again and this force of this blow had Pierce staggering back through the glass screen, crashing to the floor below as blood gushed out of him. His body went still, his eyes staring unblinking up at the ceiling as his life drained away from him.

With his dying breath, he uttered, “Hail…H-Hydra.”

Not paying the man any mind, Fury knelt down by the unmoving Natasha.

“Romanoff,” he gruffly barked as he shook her shoulder. Her eyes remained firmly shut.

“Natasha! Natasha, come on!”

There was a faint groan from the redhead as she came to. She blinked wearily for a few seconds before gazing up at Fury. “Ow. Those really do sting.”

Fury couldn’t help but chuckle as he pulled Natasha to her feet. If she was a bit wobbly, he was nice enough not to mention it as she righted herself, once again becoming Black Widow. Her eyes locked onto Pierce’s body and he could see the satisfaction in her gaze.

“We need to get going,” Fury remarked as Natasha nodded in agreement.

“That we do, but I need to change first. This dress is so not my style.” She sauntered away in her heels, scooping up a duffle bag along the way as she disappeared into Pierce’s office. Before she entered though, she pivoted on her heel towards Fury.

“Find Sharon. She should have been here by now.”

Fury arched an eyebrow in response. “Who’s in charge here?”

“Nick,” Natasha drawled with batting eyes. It was the look she always pulled when she was humoring him and his position of power over her. And just as always – though he would never admit it – Nick caved.

“I’ll get her on the comms.”

He turned his back as he ignited the comm in his ear, trying to reach the elusive Carter. It was a fruitless endeavor when minutes later the door of the Council was flung open and Sharon noticeably hobbled into the room.

She looked worse for the wear, her white suit stained with blood and sweat. He had always told her black was the best option, not just because he rocked it like the absolute motherfucker that he was, but also because you could never see the blood. It saved a ton when it came to dry-cleaning. But Sharon always had to do things her own way. She had been like that since she was a toddler tugging on his trench coat asking for a bedtime story.

Fury pushed away the fond memories as he demanded neutrally, “What took you so long?”

Sharon only huffed out a breath as she ambled further into the room, sidestepping Pierce’s body. “I ran into my ex-boyfriend.”

Fury winced. “Hydra?”

“Hydra,” Sharon confirmed, her face closed off. Fury hoped she got a couple good licks in before ending the miserable son of a bitch.

“I knew I hated him for a good reason,” Natasha declared as she entered back into the room, donned in her tactical suit.

Sharon only snorted weakly as she placed her hands on her hips. “What? Always knew he was secretly a Nazi?”

“Nah.” Natasha shrugged indifferently, “I just thought he was a tool.”

Sharon shook her head before her gaze was directed to the battling helicarriers. The sound of cannon fire was at an all-time crescendo as they came slowly falling out of the sky as fiery blazes.

“This is it, huh?” she asked aloud, her eyes clouded with a depth of emotions that she was trying so hard to force down.

“This is how SHIELD ends, with death and destruction.” She choked on the words as her gaze went down to her feet, unable to look her comrades in the eyes.

Both Fury and Natasha allowed her a silent moment to mourn before it was back to business as usual.

“That helicopter is calling our names.” Fury directed the two female spies to it before the entire Triskelion was in the line of fire of the falling helicarriers. The two settled into the back, placing headphones over their ears as the helicopter rose up. It circled the Triskelion, avoiding falling debris as they tried to locate Sam.

“Sam!” Sharon called into her comm, “Come in, Sam.”

She was watching with a mixture of horror and fascination as one of the helicarriers began descending towards the main tower of the Triskelion. It was going to crash right into the structure any second now.

 _“Please tell me you got that chopper in the air!”_ Sam yelled through the comms.

“Sam, where are you?” Natasha asked directly.

Sam sounded out of breath as he responded. _“41 st floor! North-west corner!” _

Sharon watched as that ill-fated helicarrier crashed into the Trisk, taking out its windows as it sledgehammered through the agency.

Fury nodded from his seat at the controls as he began maneuvering the helicopter to Sam’s estimated location.

“We’re on it,” Natasha answered from beside Sharon. “Stay where you are.”

 _“Not an option!”_ Sam bellowed. Sharon stared up at the scene above. The crashing helicarrier was right where they needed to be in order to intercept Sam. Any plan they had went haywire as they watched in disbelief as Sam hurled himself out of one of the Trisk’s windows.

He dived down through the falling debris as Fury lurched the helicopter to its side, angling the open doorway to the freefalling Sam. Sam landed gracelessly in the aircraft, nearly falling out the other side if it hadn't been for Sharon and Natasha keeping a hold of him.

The helicopter righted itself as they tugged Sam safely in. Fury dodged wreckage and fragments as the world continued falling apart around them. Helicarriers crashing into the Potomac below.

“Forty-first floor! Forty-first!” Sam yelled as Fury rolled his eyes.

“It’s not like they put the floor numbers on the outside of the building.”

Sam struggled to sit up, eyes blown wide by his death-defying stunt. “You all are crazy!”

Sharon shared an adrenaline filled chuckle with Natasha as she punched Sam in the shoulder. “Welcome to the club, Birdman.”

“We are not calling me Birdman,” Sam argued as Natasha joined in on the ribbing.

“I don’t know, I like it. It’s better than Hawkguy.”

Sharon snorted as she looked around the helicopter. The gang was nearly all here. Maria was safely sequestered in SHIELD’s security bunker. And Steve was…

Wait, where the hell was Steve?

Sharon reached her hand up to her comm. “Hill, where’s Steve? You got a location on Rogers?”

All she received was static in return as she exchanged worried looks with both Sam and Natasha. Her eyes turned towards the plummeting wreckage surrounding them.

Where was he?

 

* * *

 

 

Everything was fire and smoke as Steve sluggishly jumped down to Bucky’s side, his shield hanging listlessly from his arm. The helicarrier was shuddering around them, groaning as it began sinking to the Potomac below. With every step he took, he could feel his body beginning to shut down. There were too many injuries and the strain of trying to heal them was getting to him. He was tapping out. He didn’t know how much he had left in him.

But he wouldn’t leave Bucky here.

He had left his best friend behind once. And it turned out to be the worst mistake of his life. He’d be damned if he did it again.

He struggled to where Bucky was pinned by debris. His friend was struggling but was no match against the beam pressing him down.

With a groan, Steve bent and using the last ounces of his enhanced strength, he raised the beam just enough for Bucky to wiggle free. The assassin endeavored to his feet as Steve watched him.

“You know me,” Steve insisted through panting breaths. Bucky eyed him cagily, like a wild animal chained for too long and not knowing what to do with its freedom. And like any abused animal, he lashed out.

“No, I don’t!” Bucky punched with his metal arm, knocking the weakened Steve back several paces. The helicarrier shook as it continued falling, the glass beneath them creaking as it splintered.

“Bucky,” Steve murmured as he stood, his knees wobbling from exertion as he gazed at his friend. “You’ve known me your whole life.”

Bucky’s face shuttered with suppressed emotions as he backhanded Steve with the metal arm. It knocked Steve to the ground, his vision going in and out as he struggled to stand. His whole body wanted to give out, to shut down.

But Steve wasn’t giving up yet. Bucky was in there. He knew it. And Bucky had always said Steve was the most stubborn, sorry sack he had ever met.

So Steve would be stubborn, for Bucky.

“You name is James Buchannan Barnes.”

“Shut up!” Bucky wailed as he landed another blow upon Steve, sending the super-soldier flying. Both were exhausted beyond belief as they faced off once again. Steve threw aside his mask, allowing Bucky to look at his face, hoping it would jog something in his friend’s misshapen memories.

“I’m not gonna fight you,” Steve declared as he dropped his shield. It fell through a crack in the glass, dropping to the Potomac below. It was a small cost to give up the shield for Bucky. The world may think that Steve Rogers couldn’t exist without Captain America, but Steve knew the truth. There was no _real_ Steve Rogers without Bucky Barnes.

“You’re my friend,” Steve brokenly vowed.

Bucky, half in despair half in frustration, let out a war-like cry as he charged Steve, slamming the Avenger to the glass. Steve didn’t fight back as Bucky landed atop him, eyes blazing with too many emotions: confusion, shame, grief, and disturbance.

“You’re my mission,” he got out through clenched teeth as he raised his metal arm and pounded the gleaming fist into Steve’s face, over and over. Steve felt bones shattering beneath his skin as Bucky continued pummeling him.

“You’re. My. Mission!”

Steve could hardly see, his eyes practically glued shut from the violent assault as he peered up at his friend. Bucky had his fist raised, ready to deliver the final, deadly blow. His long hair was blowing in the wind as they continued hurtling to the river below. Smoke billowed around them, making the air thick and inhospitable.

If this was it…if Bucky was the last thing he’d ever see, then Steve couldn’t ask for much else.

“Then finish it…” he whispered through a busted lip. “Cause I’m with you…to the end of the line.”

Bucky’s entire body froze, his metal arm hanging uselessly in the air as he stared down at Steve with wide eyes. Steve couldn’t even decipher what Bucky may be thinking as the world slipped out from underneath him.

So Steve let go.

And he fell.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wahoo! This was an absolute beast to write. But I really liked how it came out, I hope you all do as well. A little update on my planned posting schedule. The first eight chapters of this fic were pre-written back when I was still writing Story 1. Hence why I could spoil all of you with new chapters every couple of days. Now that I'm back to writing from scratch, it's going to be more like once a week. 
> 
> Minor thing, in Chap 1 of this fic, I posted a picture of Sharon's bedroom. I have since changed it and now have a room that screams 'Sharon,' at least IMO. If you have a free sec, you should check it out.
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who is commentating, leaving kudos, bookmarking, reblogging, etc. You all are the absolute best. Let no one tell you different. It gives me so much motivation to keep on keeping on with this crazy series.


	10. And the Ships Are Left to Rust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that she realized it, she couldn’t seem to stop. The tears kept coming, followed by shattering sobs that slammed her body this way and that. She was withering away, curled over the dirty, bloodied suit as she gripped it tightly to her.
> 
> SHIELD was gone.
> 
> Everything she thought her life to be was meaningless.

**_April 4 th, 2014_ **

**_Washington, D.C._ **

****

Everything was in turmoil around Sharon.

Sequestered in Fury’s helicopter, all she could do was stare down at the burning wreckage that was the three Insight Helicarriers. They had crashed into the river below, taking out the mighty, chrome Triskelion along with them. Thick, billowing dark smoke was encasing DC as the helicarriers continued to blaze.

They had done it.

They had destroyed SHIELD.

Sharon didn’t know how to feel as she gazed upon the broken, hollowed remains of the Trisk. More than half of the tower was gone from the collision of a helicarrier. Her stomach was churning, she felt the distant burn of both her arm and shoulder wounds as blood continued trickling out of them, but all she could think about was Steve.

Where was he?

No one had heard from the super-soldier since he had ordered the destruction of the three carriers. Had he gotten himself off of it somehow? Or had he been in it as it plunged into the river?

The most troubling question of all: did he survive his encounter with the Winter Soldier?

“We need to find Steve,” Sam tersely asserted, jaw clenched tightly with concern for their friend.

“We’re working on it,” Natasha snapped as she communicated with Maria through the comms, trying to discern Roger’ last known location. The helicopter hovered above the river, giving a Birdseye view to the carnage below.

Suddenly a thought came to Sharon, piercing through the haze of her shock. The shield. She flipped open the hidden scanner on the sleeve of her suit and began typing madly on its touchscreen.

“What are you doing?” Sam inquired from across the helicopter, the beginnings of an ugly bruise already spreading across his face from his encounter with Rumlow. Sharon hoped to God that that helicarrier crushed him when it rammed into the Trisk.

“When Steve had his back turned this morning, I placed a tracking device on his shield,” Sharon replied in a preoccupied manner as she searched through the data.

“Well, where is it?”

Sharon’s stomach dropped as she finally got a lock on the bug’s signal. It wasn’t good.

Sharon looked up with troubled eyes. “The Potomac.”

“Son of a bitch.”

_“Дерьмо.”_

Sam and Natasha wore in unison as all three’s eyes were drawn to the seething river below. Steve could be anywhere within it.

“Nick,” Natasha ordered up to the pilot’s seat. “Take us down for a flyby over the river. We need to find Rogers.”

Nick complied as the helicopter dipped down, gliding across the murky water, debris visible across the currents. Sharon’s heart was heavy as iron in her chest as she searched futilely for any signs of red, white and blue.

_C’mon, Steve. Where are you?_

Suddenly she saw it.

“There!” she pointed as Sam and Natasha followed her finger. There, on the riverbanks was the slumped form of Steve. From their vantage point, it was hard to tell if they were looking down at an unconscious body…or a corpse. Natasha barked orders for Fury to land the helicopter, and it was the longest minute of Sharon’s life as the chopper descended. It wasn’t even entirely situated on the ground when Sharon was throwing herself out of it to get to Steve’s side, the others at her heels.

She fell to her knees next to the Avenger. He was sprawled across the mud on his back, blood seeping through his uniform. His face was a tapestry of bruises and gashes. Sharon’s hands were shaking as she gently cradled his head, mindful of the shattered cheekbone and his split lip.

“Is he breathing?” Sam asked as he kneeled down, hands wavering hesitantly above the super-soldier, almost afraid he would break the man if he touched him. Sharon’s fingers slipped down his face to his neck, where after frantically searching, she found a faint, fluttering pulse.

All three watched avidly as Steve’s chest rose minutely before falling as he continued to breathe, in and out.

“He needs to get to a hospital,” Sam urgently ordered as tore off part of his shirt and pressed it down to Steve’s bleeding torso wound.

Natasha’s hair whipped over her shoulder as she shouted back to Fury, “We need an ambulance over here!”

From then on out time moved strangely for Sharon. It was simultaneously too fast and too slow as it whirled around her like a hurricane, keeping her at its center, at the calm of the storm. Things occurred around her without her brain ever truly comprehending it. After what could have been minutes or hours, sirens and flashing lights enclosed all of them on the banks of the Potomac.

Paramedics converged, picking up Steve and carting him away from them. Somehow Sharon also found herself being ushered into an ambulance. When she blinked next she was in the ER as her arm and shoulder were being stitched up. A breath later found police officers in front of her, pressing for a statement before Maria intervened, shooing them away impatiently. In the next heartbeat, she was slumped over in a chair, exhaustion and pain meds flowing through her as she waited for news on Steve, who was in surgery. She was flanked on both sides by Sam and Natasha.

An eternity later, weary doctors came to a stop in front of the three to inform that that Steve was alive, but not out of the woods yet. Sam volunteered immediately to remain at the super-soldier’s side. His palm was warm as he ran it across Sharon’s uninjured shoulder before he stood to travel to Steve’s room.

When Sharon next looked up, Natasha was placing her in a taxi, passing money to the driver as she instructed him to Sharon’s address. Natasha’s eyes were sympathetic as she clasped Sharon’s pale hands in goodbye, before stepping away and closing the door. Sharon watched as the redhead grew fainter and fainter out the rear window as the taxi pulled away.

Sharon’s head lulled against the window, darkness had fallen across the capital. How long had it been? Hours? Days? She had no grasp on of time as the taxi delivered her to her apartment. She had no memory of walking through the lobby or taking the elevator, but the next thing she knew she was letting herself into her empty apartment.

Her eyes blinked erratically as she flipped the light switch and was bathed in harsh light. The space, her home, felt foreign as she remained standing in the narrow hallway, wilting into herself.

She hadn’t been home in three days, not since the night she believed Fury died.

Her entire world had been flipped on its head, but the apartment was unchanged. Her running shoes were still in a pile near the front door. A book was laying carelessly on her couch from where she had tossed it aside. A bottle of wine was on her coffee table, right where she had left it when Trip had called her.

Everything was still the same…everything but her.

Listlessly she kicked off her boots, undoing her belt and heard it distantly clatter to the wooden floors. She stumbled towards the kitchen, searching for plastic bags, tape, and scissors before she teetered precariously into her bathroom.

She slapped on the lights and ignored how blinding the fluorescent glow was. She took in her appearance dully. Her face was washed out, eyes sunken in as shadows danced through her irises. She looked away as she reached for her suit’s zipper and tugged it down as it exposed inch after inch of bruised skin.

Her body was a map of abuse as she peeled the suit off as skillfully as a snake sheds its skin. Finally, she was naked as she looked at her body, eyes clocking the bruises and scrapes she had racked up since the _Lemurian Star._ Everything hurt, but she couldn’t feel it as the cloud surrounding her head only continued to grow.

She pushed aside the pastel shower curtain and started the water, pushing the nozzle down all the way to hot as steam built up in the enclosed bathroom. Reaching for the bags and scissors, she methodically wrapped both of her stitches to protect them from the water as she ripped tape savagely with her teeth. She wrapped the plastic bags until her circulation was nearly cut off. At this point, the steam and heat were palpable around her as she slipped into the shower.

The water was nearly scalding but Sharon’s body was wracked with strong shivers as she stood beneath the spray as blood, grime, and sweat dripped off of her, swirling around the drain. She was too tired to do anything other than just stand there as the water continued falling down around her. She stood there as the temperature moved from hot to lukewarm to freezing. She stared ahead unseeingly as the world continued to move around her.

Finally, she turned off the water and slinked out of the tub, wrapping herself up in a plush and cozy bathrobe. She distractedly tied the sash snug around her waist before she forced her feet to move into her bedroom.

The room was quiet and peaceful as she stumbled into it. The stillness disturbed her but she pushed the thoughts aside as she stepped wearily to the foot of her bed. She stared down at the mattress and the smooth, white duvet spread across the bed.

Without conscious thought Sharon collapsed onto her mattress, curling up into a ball right in the center of it. She wrapped her arms around her legs, burrowed deeper into the comforting embrace of the bed and between one breath and the next, fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

**_April 6 th, 2014_ **

**_Washington, D.C._ **

****

Sharon’s body felt like lead as she battled to blink her eyes open. Finally, she succeeded and found herself sprawled across her bed. It was a struggle to raise her head as she noted the sunlight streaming in through her windows. She glanced at her bedside alarm and saw the time and date.

_12:01pm. 4/6/14._

Huh. She had been asleep for more than 36 hours. An entire day had passed without her ever being aware. She hoped the world was still standing. Who knew, with Hydra being out there? She forced away the morbid thoughts.

She felt like she had slept for centuries. Is this how Steve had felt when he had come out of the ice? Her stomach flip-flopped at the thought of the super-soldier. He had been in rough shape when she had left the hospital. Hopefully, the serum would be enough for him to pull through. They had just started getting along, she’d hate for him to die now. She made a mental note to check in on the Avenger later.

Her body was weary, the pain of her excursions the last few days beginning to sink in as she pushed herself to her elbows, a tugging pain resounding throughout her shoulder and arm. Her stomach grumbled for food, but Sharon felt no desire to eat.

She got to her feet and swayed dizzily, hand going to head to steady herself. Alright, she may not want food, but her body did. With a groan, she staggered towards the kitchen. Her supplies of food were scarce, but she was able to put together a bowl of cereal as she carried it to the couch and plopped down, ignoring the twinge of her ribs.

Her chewing was abnormally loud throughout the silent apartment and it grated on her nerves until she reached for her remote and turned on the TV.

She almost wished she hadn’t.

Every channel was breaking news reports on the events of the Battle of the Triskelion (or so it was dubbed by the press).

SHIELD. Hydra. Captain America. The Winter Soldier. Alexander Pierce.

All on one sickening loop, repeating over and over. Luckily it seemed, for now, that Barnes’ identity hadn’t yet been revealed. She only gave it a matter of time before the world learned of the existence of its second super-soldier and wartime hero come back from the dead. Sharon watched the news as the noise became white noise around her, cutting through the haze threatening to take her over once again. Though the sleep had been more than needed, she didn’t feel rejuvenated but rather empty as she sat on her couch, eyes glazing over.

Finally, something flashed across the screen that jolted her out of her lethargy. It was there for a second and then gone, disappeared into the mass of information flickering across her screen. But it was enough to get Sharon’s mind to reverse out of cruise control. She stood and smoothly collected her laptop and the new iPhone Hill had passed onto her. She seated herself, legs tucked up beneath her, as she slipped her sim card into the blank phone as it fired to life, downloading all of her previous data and more importantly, her contacts.

As the phone sorted itself out, she logged into the computer and took to the internet. Natasha’s handiwork was easy to find as every major website was running reports on the data dump the redhead performed. Most of it was still encrypted and would take time to tap into, but Sharon was on the hunt for one thing in particular.

The Red Room.

She had only seen it for a second, but perhaps there was a connection between the Red Room and Hydra. It would explain some of the legends that pertained to the Winter Soldier: the red star, his predilection for speaking Russian, and more.

Sharon’s search was interrupted when her new phone, now fully operational, began pinging in with text messages, missed phone calls, and voicemails, all the things she had missed in the craziness of the last several days.

Sharon almost didn’t want to look but forced herself to pick up her phone and see who had been trying to get in contact with her. It was the usual suspects.

Mom and Dad.

Catherine.

Greer.

Trip.

Bri.

Aunt Peggy.

Sharon’s lips wobbled as she stared down at Peggy’s name. God, even with her bad days she must know now what had occurred at the agency she had built. She would know that Hydra had polluted her decades of hard work, twisted something beautiful into a horrific, ugly thing.

Sharon felt sick just thinking of how Peggy must be feeling. She should go to her, comfort her, tell her it wasn’t her fault…

That it wasn’t _their_ fault for believing that the world could be a better place if only they worked to transform it.

Sharon’s hands squeezed around the phone as she fought every instinct in her body to hurl it at the wall, watch it shatter into a hundred pieces and break. (Break like SHIELD, break like the Triskelion, break like her heart.)

Instead, harshly breathing through her nose, she set the phone aside and rose from the couch, feeling caged in her apartment. She went to her room, stripped out of the robe and dressed into practical jeans, shirt and an olive utility jacket over it. She tied up the shoelaces of her white sneakers and collected her phone, wallet, and keys. Among the texts on her phone had been one from Maria informing her that her Stingray had been returned and was awaiting her in the parking garage of her building.

She went to it and slipped into the sleek leather of her sports car. It purred as she ignited the engine and some of the tension in her body leaked out as she sank into the comfort of her seat. It took no time to reach the hospital. She was stopped at the doors and had to hand over her SHIELD ID to gain admittance as heavily armed police officers paroled the premises. She was approved and slipped into the lobby, making a pit stop at the hospital’s café where she picked up two cups of coffee and a few Danishes.

She took the elevator up to Steve’s floor and, after once again being approved by the guards at the Avenger’s room, was able to enter the hospital room. Sam was situated in a chair next to the gurney, looking as haggard as tired as Sharon felt.

He acknowledged her with a quirk of the lips as they locked eyes. She nodded back and held up the tray of coffee that also had the bag of pastries resting atop it.

“I brought coffee,” she announced cheerfully, internally wincing at how forced it sounded. If Sam noticed he was kind enough not to say so as his eyes flashed with interest at the sight of her goodies.

“Give me,” he made grabby hands as she passed him the cup and allowed him to root through the pastry bag as he pulled out a cherry Danish.

Sharon took her own plunder and sunk into the chair across from Sam, ignoring the protest of her body as she moved.

Sam sighed deeply as he took his first sip of coffee. “Sharon, you are a goddess.”

Sharon smiled fleetingly as she drank from her own cup. “I’ve been telling Steve that for years. Hopefully, he’ll believe it now that you know the truth. Show him the light, and all that.”

The words slipped out before she could stop them and her smile dropped as her eyes moved towards Steve’s bed. The blond was resting on his back, blankets pulled up to his chin and eyes closed. He looked only a hair better than the last time Sharon had seen him on the banks of the Potomac. Bruises were still blossoming across his handsome face, which was swollen from the fight he had inevitably had with Barnes aboard the helicarrier. His vitals seemed strong though, and she hoped his serum would pull him through the worse of it.

Her eyes darted to Sam as she inquired, “Any news on Sleeping Beauty?”

Sam nodded as he took a big bite of the Danish, crumbs flaking everyone as he munched happily. “Yeah, he was awake for a moment. Fell back under pretty quickly.”

Of course, he did. Sharon refused to feel disappointment that she wasn’t there for his brief sojourn back into the land of the living. “Did he say anything?”

“Yeah,” Sam smiled with a hint of mirth in his dark depths. “On your left.”

Sharon paused as she brought up her own Danish to her mouth. “Is that supposed to mean something?”

Sam’s chest rumbled with laughter as he replied, “It’s an inside joke.”

Sharon couldn’t help but smile as she bit into the pastry. “It’s nice to know he’s as charming as always.”

Sam threw back his head as he patted his stomach. “Oh, yeah, he’s a real Miss Congeniality.”

The two exchanged joking grins as they allowed an easy silence to settle in as they worked through their pastries and coffees. Of course, the easiness of it couldn’t last as Sam studied her from across Steve’s bed. Sharon took the scrutiny, keeping her eyes on Steve’s chest as it moved up and down as he breathed.

“You okay?” Sam finally asked after a long stretch of silence. Sharon shrugged, bereft of any real emotions as she leaned back into her chair.

“You know,” she chuckled weakly as she looked down at her hands. “I really don’t know how I feel.”

Sam hummed to himself, going into counselor mode immediately. Sharon couldn’t fault him, he was ripe for the picking when hanging around the likes of her, Steve and Natasha. At the moment all of them had so many issues that their issues had issues.

Welcome to SHIELD.

Except…except there wasn’t SHIELD anymore. She had helped ensure that the agency burned to the ground.

Suddenly the remains of the Danish in her mouth tasted like ash as she forced herself to swallow it down before setting the bag aside. She didn’t have an appetite anymore. Maybe she never would again if she continued feeling this…way that she felt. She couldn’t even describe it, but it pressed down upon her, threatening to suffocate her at every turn. She was hot, she was cold, she wanted to remain sitting here forever, she wanted to run a hundred miles. When would she just _be?_

Sam watched all of this calmly, his gaze sympathetic as he spoke, his voice cutting through the buzzing thoughts crashing throughout her head.

“Give me your phone.”

Sharon’s head snapped up as she gaped at the man. “What? Why?”

Sam rolled his eyes in a suffering manner as he explained. “Because as much fun as it is blowing up shit with you and leaping out of falling buildings, I’d much rather prefer quieter activities. Like bowling. Do you like bowling? I have a mean swing.”

Sharon stared at him for a long time before blinking, the world slowly coming back to focus. “Is this a date?” she couldn’t help but ask with a tinge of hysteria in her voice.

“Are you asking me out on a date, Sam? Because I totally understand that the comradery we’ve built mixed with the adrenaline of the last few days could lead you to believe that there’s potential for romance there, but trust me, just like in _Speed,_ it never works out. I’d know. My former booty call and sometimes boyfriend was a sleeper Hydra agent.”

Oh yeah. That had happened. She had killed Neal after learning that man had been Hydra all along. Huh. Should she be feeling more in regards to that? He had shared her bed for more than two years. She hadn’t loved him, hadn’t ever expected a future, but still…how should she feel? Her musings were once again interrupted by Sam.

“Whoa there, missy! Slow your roll.” He waved her off as she continued staring at him incredulously. “I’m talking about bowling, not going steady and having you wear my letterman jacket.”

Sam’s grin grew teasing. “Besides, out of the two ridiculously handsome men in this room, I think we both know whose jacket you’d rather be wearing.”

Now Sharon was utterly gob-smacked as she gawked at the dark-skinned man. Where had that come from? When had they passed Go and collected two hundred dollars? She was so, so lost.

“What?!” She looked helplessly between herself and the knocked out Avenger. "No, what Steve and I have is purely professional.”

Sam threw his head back and laughed heartily. “Yep, having a front row seat to the two of you figuring out what the hell you are to each other is going to be mighty entertaining. I’ll tell Romanoff to get the popcorn.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest loosely as he relaxed back into his chair. “Heaven knows you two are going to put me through agony.”

Sharon rolled her eyes as she ran her fingers over the lid of her cup. “Sounds torturous.”

Sam nodded exaggeratedly in agreement. “The absolute worse.”

“Sure you want to put up with us?” Sharon asked with a grin.

Sam looked at her knowingly as an easy smile swept across his face. “Ride or die, Carter, ride or die. I’m always there for my friends.”

Sharon swallowed the lump in her throat as she looked down at her lap. “Well, I’m now unemployed with job prospects looking slim and enemies at every turn. I could use a friend.”

Time passed in easy company before Sharon finally checked her watch and found that several hours had passed. She raised herself from her seat and nodded to the door.

“I should get going. No rest for the wicked and all that. Let me know if anything changes with Steve.”

Sam bobbed his head. “Will do.”

“Thanks, Sam.” For whatever reason, she could feel her lip beginning to quiver from the compassion and kindness Sam was endlessly showing her, even though he hardly knew a thing about her.

She forced herself to remain neutral as she thinly smiled at the Godsend of a man. “In the words of Steve, you’re a pretty swell guy.”

Sam looked up at her for a moment before standing as he stepped forward, easily charting his movements.

“Hey,” he shushed as he reached up and embraced her. “This whole thing, Hydra, SHIELD, it’ll work itself out.”

Sharon stood unmoving in his arms for nearly a minute before she eased gratefully into the hug. She let her head rest on his shoulder as her arms twined around his waist and squeezed. She allowed herself just an ounce of comfort, a relief through the storm that was her life at the moment before she forced herself to harden in resolve. She pulled away from Sam and he allowed her to go.

No words were spoken as she sent him a wobbly smile and then left the room and the hospital behind. She had just reached her Stingray when her phone pinged with a new text message. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and looked down at it, half dreading who was now trying to get her attention.

**From Maria Hill:**

_Need you at the Potomac. Where Rogers was picked up._

Part of her wanted to ignore it, ignore the whole world, just bury her head in the sand and allow everything to pass her by until it all made sense again. But something told her that her world would never again be orderly in the way it had once been.

How naïve she had once been. What a foolish, little girl. What a reality check.

She put the car into drive and soon found herself at the banks of the Potomac. It was a mess. The three helicarriers were still in the river. It’d take months to fully remove the wreckages. The Triskelion was no longer a smoldering fire but was a tragic shell of itself as its ruins were raised towards the sky in supplication.

Boats were dredging the river, looking for anything of importance. A massive team of agents and a cleaning crew were on the banks. Sharon moved past them and found both Maria and Natasha waiting for her.

Not a hair was out of place on either woman as they turned towards her in eerie unison. They appeared unflappable before her with their smooth faces and calculating eyes. How could they keep everything together when she was ready to fall apart at any second? Was she just weak in comparison to these hardened spies? All of their worlds had been turned topsy-turvy, why was she the only one who could actually feel it?

Natasha’s eyes narrowed, almost as she could sense the disturbing thoughts curling throughout Sharon’s brain. Sharon looked away shamefully. She didn’t need her failings broadcasted to the world, ready to be dissected and picked apart.

“What’s the 4-1-1?” she asked gruffly as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. Maria was all business as she nodded over to a boulder.

“We found Cap’s shield this morning, thought you could pass it along.”

Sharon glanced at the weapon that looked none the worse for the wear from its plunge into the river. It gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. Sharon swallowed as she looked away.

“I can do that. Anything else?”

Maria sighed heavily as she placed her hands on her hips and regarded her two colleagues wearily. “Yeah. My contacts have reached out. Congress isn’t going to allow this who debacle to pass quietly. They’re calling for a committee to oversee how exactly this shit-storm ever happened.”

Sharon snorted somberly. “We had to know that was coming. What of it?”

“They want to speak to the architect of our plan. But with Rogers laid up in the hospital, their eyes are now on his partner in crime.”

Maria’s eyes were sympathetic as she looked to Sharon. Sharon’s fatigue only increased at the prospect of spending hours, even days, in front of Congress explaining all of the lies and deceptions Hydra had sold them throughout the decades.

It’d be like sending a lamb to the slaughterhouse. They’d rip her apart from beginning to end, flaying her back for the world to see.

But these were the consequences of following Captain America into battle.

She was his partner. This was her penance.

“I’ll do it,” Natasha announced without preamble as both Maria’s and Sharon’s eyes darted to the redhead. Natasha remained cool under the scrutiny as she quirked an eyebrow.

“What? I’ve always wanted to tell a government to go fuck itself. This could be fun.” She smirked and sent a wink Sharon’s way. Sharon wanted to fall to her knees in gratitude. She was really off her game if everyone could so easily read her body. First Sam, now Natasha. She didn’t deserve their friendships when she had nothing to give in return. She was barely holding on. Everything was too much. It was not enough. She couldn’t find the equilibrium she so desperately needed. She was fraying at the edges.

Maria shrugged. “As long as someone does it, I don’t care who. I’ll make the arrangements.” She whipped out her cellphone and walked away, barking orders into the device, leaving Natasha and Sharon alone.

Sharon looked at her friend. “Thanks, Nat.”

Natasha lifted her shoulder in a purposefully, nonchalant half-shrug. “Like I said, I just want to watch them squirm as I tell them off for their dismal failure at ever seeing this coming.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Her gaze shifted across the river as she saw the Washington Monument towering off in the distance. Suddenly she was reminded of the news report from earlier. She turned back to Natasha, who was watching her closely.

“I’ve only taken a peek at the file dump you performed,” Sharon prefaced. “But I saw something. It leads me to believe that Hydra had connections with the Red Room.”

If the news shocked or bothered her, Natasha didn’t show it as she remained carefully composed. “That’s not entirely surprising. Evil organizations have a way of being acquainted with one another.”

Sharon nodded her head in agreement. “I was wondering if maybe you could find anything from the Red Room about Barnes.”

Natasha’s eyes flashed with something undiscernible before they smoothed over into their usual aloofness. It took a long moment before the assassin agreed.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Her voice was low and raspy.

“Thanks, Nat.”

Natasha arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Why the curiosity? What are you thinking?”

Sharon exhaled deeply as her eyes were involuntarily drawn to the river’s edge. “Steve was resting on the riverbank, completely out of the water’s way. The current would have never pushed him so far out of the water. Also, the markings in the ground beneath Steve suggested he was pulled or dragged out of the Potomac, rather than clawed his way out of it. And the only person who would have done that is-"

“Barnes," Natasha realized perfectly as Sharon nodded.

“Yes. And if Barnes pulled him from the Potomac it means that there’s still a part of him inside of the Winter Soldier. Which means-"

“That Rogers will go after him,” Natasha ascertained, her mind moving quickly.

“Hole in one,” Sharon complimented.

“Well,” Natasha drawled. “He never does anything halfway. He is a drama queen that way. I’ll get back to you about the Red Room.”

She pivoted on her heels and sauntered away, leaving Sharon with the shield. Sharon walked to it and slumped onto the boulder, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. She held the Vibranium weapon in her lap as she stared out across the murky Potomac, the ruins of the Trisk visible in the distance.

This was her world now; all wreckage and debris. She was no longer an agent of SHIELD. That reality was extinguished, lost forever.

What was she then? What could she ever hope to be?

Her fingers dug into the straps of the shield as she held it tightly to her, afraid it would disappear if she didn’t keep it close.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, at the shores of the mighty Potomac. She eventually stood, dragging both herself and the shield back to her car. She drove back to her apartment, body numb as she walked through her front door, dropping the shield onto the floor.

She froze as she strode past the open doorway of her bathroom. She peered in, spying her discarded white tactical suit resting innocuously on the ground from where she had kicked it off. She hesitantly stepped into the bathroom, her eyes never leaving the suit.

This. This is what she had worked for all her life.

A goddamn suit.

Without realizing it, she fell to her knees on the tiled floor as she picked up the suit, examining it, waiting to see if it would give her some kind of sign.

How many times had she preened with pride as she wore that white suit? How many times had she felt like some kind of Superman? This suit – SHIELD – was her life. And it didn’t mean a single thing anymore.

She didn’t mean anything. Her life was a lie, a waste.

She blinked erratically as she felt wetness on her cheeks. She trembling reached up, feeling tears on her skin. She was crying.

When had she started crying?

Now that she realized it, she couldn’t seem to stop. The tears kept coming, followed by shattering sobs that slammed her body this way and that. She was withering away, curled over the dirty, bloodied suit as she gripped it tightly to her.

SHIELD was gone.

Everything she thought her life to be was meaningless.

Raw pain gave way to unflinching anger as she reached unthinkingly for the suit and tried to rip it apart with her bare hands. The Kevlar didn’t give in to her efforts and she let loose a hoarse cry as she kept frantically trying to tear it apart. When that failed, she reached for the scissors and slashed into the suit with a vengeance, over and over with a crazed frenzy that had swept fiercely through her.

There was no rhyme or reason to her actions. She wasn’t in control of herself as she stabbed at the suit over and over. She continued sobbing all the while, her cries guttural and incoherent as they blended into one another with every gasping breath.

Finally, when the suit was nothing more than tatters did she drop the scissors and stared down at the monstrosity. Her face was a mess of tears and snot and her sobs were nearly making her hyperventilate with their ferocity.

She leaned back onto her feet as her cries echoed dimly throughout the bathroom. She was exhausted, ready to just slip away into the nothingness of sleep. She raised herself to her feet and collapsed onto her bed.

She had never felt more alone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Sharon, I really put her through the wringer with this chapter. So much emotional whiplash for our favorite blonde. Things will get better! Eventually! Besides, angst is good for the soul. Hopefully I was able to articulate the internal struggles she is dealing with such as shock and all that. She's a bit numb to certain things, such as Neal. But she's also emotionally raw with everything dialed up to like an 11 or 12, which is why she is quick to feel a certain way and then finally breaks down. I hope this all makes sense. 
> 
> Thank you for all the previous reviews! Always a joy to receive! Please keep 'em up. 
> 
> Translation:  
> Дерьмо - Shit 
> 
> Pic time! 
> 
> Sharon's bathrobe:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/25344459507/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Sharon at the hospital:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/39317624595/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Natasha:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/39317624665/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Maria:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/39317624705/in/dateposted-public/)


	11. Welcome to the Fallout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Speaking of Stark,” Sharon tentatively began, “Are we going to talk about it?”
> 
> “Talk about what?” Steve asked, brows knitted together in confusion. He clearly didn’t know what she was talking about. She hated to be the one to do this, but they needed a game plan.
> 
> “About what Zola showed us…about Howard Stark and the way he and his wife died?” She watched as his face shuttered, “It wasn’t an accident.”

**_April 9 th, 2014_ **

**_SHIELD Archives_ **

****

Sharon couldn’t believe that it had only been a week since she had last stepped foot into the Archives.

Everything was eerily the same as the morning she had sequestered herself to a desk, combing through mission reports and files for any inkling of the Winter Soldier.

A lot had changed since then.

SHIELD was gone.

Hydra still existed.

The Winter Soldier was none other than Captain America’s long lost best friend, Bucky Barnes.

Her life had been completely flipped on its head.

So here she was, searching for answers in the place where it had all started. She was no longer looking for the existence of the Winter Soldier, but rather what part she had played in Hydra’s sick games.

Seven years.

That’s how long she had been a SHIELD agent. In that time she had completed more than a hundred missions in which she thought she was furthering security and peace in the wider world.

But now that she knew the truth of Hydra’s involvement…now she wasn’t quite so sure.

She needed to know what she had done, what Hydra had _made_ her do. She couldn’t sleep at night, her missions haunted her. Every arrest, every kill, they all were big, fat question marks. Had she done the right thing? Or had she taken out Hydra’s targets? Had she hurt innocent people?

She didn’t know.

She would soon.

So with a steadying breath and clenched fists, she stepped forward to the computer console. It came to life in front of her.

“Agent Sharon Carter, 3196675.”

She didn’t flinch as the computer scanned her, verifying her identity.

_"Confirmed, Carter, S. What would you like to see?”_

It was now or never.

“Access mission reports for Carter, S.” She was proud that her voice didn’t wobble at all, even though her foot was tapping agitatedly against the tiled floor.

_“Accessing mission reports, any ones in particular?”_

Sharon stared ahead resolutely as she stated, “All of them.”

_“Accessing all mission reports for Carter, S.”_

She watched as file after file appeared on screen, her entire history at SHIELD displayed entirely before her eyes. What had once been a source of pride was now dread as it coiled through her stomach, tightening sharply as her muscles spasmed in response.

She was really going to do this.

“Move to print function,” she ordered the computer tersely, lips thinned with determination.

" _What would you like printed?”_

Sharon closed her eyes briefly for a moment as hesitation flashed before she forcibly squashed it down. She opened her eyes, resolve hardening her heart.

“Everything.”

She watched detachedly every single mission report was printed out and stacked neatly. She transferred them to an unused box, packing them up quickly and efficiently. When she was done, she picked up the box and left the Archives behind, never to return. She assumed it was only a matter of time until all of the reports were destroyed, both physical and computer copies.

It’s not like SHIELD had anything to hide anymore, Natasha had exposed all of their secrets.

She had just stuffed the box of her possible transgressions into the trunk of her Stingray when her cellphone beeped with an incoming text message. She slammed down the trunk door and fished the phone out of her pocket.

**From Sam Wilson:**

_Captain Pain-in-the-Ass is awake._

A grin involuntarily split across Sharon’s face as she looked down at the message. This was the first good news she had heard in days. Steve had remained stubbornly knocked out since his brief stint in the Potomac, but now it seemed he had finally rejoined the land of the living.

She slid easily into her sports car and gunned it to the hospital. She quickly parked and did her usual dance with the security team guarding Steve’s room before being able to slip inside. She stopped in the doorway as she locked eyes with the super-soldier. He was awake, eyes clear and alert as he nodded towards her in greeting. While still bruised and cut up, he looked miles better than he had when they had found him on the banks of the Potomac.

“Hey,” she said, a bit breathless with relief that he was alive and well right before her eyes.

“Hey,” he echoed back, voice hoarse from disuse.

“Where’s Sam?” she asked, perfunctorily glancing around and finding the VA counselor absent. Steve smiled a bit sheepishly in return.

“I forced him off babysitting duty. Hopefully, he’s gone home, eats a good meal and gets some sleep.”

Sam had truly been vigilant by staying at Steve’s bedside all these days while Sharon, Maria, and Natasha waded through all the public backlash and fallout of _Hydragate_ (as the media had dubbed it). Sharon moved to step closer to Steve’s bedside when she finally noticed the copious display of flowers nearly taking up half the room. They were an abundance of red and golden flowers flown in from all corners of the planet.

It was clear who had sent them. 

“I see Stark sent flowers,” she acknowledged as she plopped down into the seat next to the hospital bed. Steve lowered his head as she nodded to the ostentatious floral arrangement.

“They’re…” _Gaudy? Over the top? Ugly?_ “Nice.”

Steve snorted as he propped himself up against his pillows. “Yeah, they’re very… _Tony_.” 

Sharon attempted to smile, but it was a weak farce and it easily slipped off her face. The mention of Stark had twisted her stomach up into all kinds of knots. In the craziness that had ensued after Zola had revealed to the true nature of Hydra to them, Sharon had nearly forgotten the other dark secret that had come to light.

Howard Stark’s death.

It had always been believed that it was a pure accident. Howard had been a notorious drinker so when he and his wife perished in an ugly car crash, it had been easy for all to pin the blame on the billionaire. _Maybe he had just had one too many,_ everyone said. Even Peggy had believed the worst.

But now…

“Speaking of Stark,” Sharon tentatively began. “Are we going to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” Steve asked, brows knitted together in confusion. He clearly didn’t know what she was talking about. She hated to be the one to do this, but they needed a game plan.

“About what Zola showed us…about Howard Stark and the way he and his wife died?” She watched as his face shuttered. “It wasn’t an accident.”

Steve looked down at his scratchy, hospital blanket as he ran his fingers over it. “No, it wasn’t.”

“Do you think…?” Sharon trailed off before plunging into the matter at hand, ripping the Band-Aid off, no matter how much it might hurt. “It might have been Barnes-"

“We don’t know that,” Steve snapped, his face taut as he narrowed his eyes at her. Sharon held up her hands defensively.

“Well, we don’t know that it _wasn’t_ him.”

“What difference does it make?” Steve quipped angrily. “It was _Hydra_. Hydra killed Howard and his wife.”

By now Steve had worked himself up into a right tizzy as the heart monitor beeped in warning. He forced in a deep breath as the monitors evened out. Sharon felt like crap for pushing the issue when Steve was still so emotionally raw, but they were dealing with something bigger than themselves, and they couldn’t just act like they never saw it.

“Are you going to tell Stark?” she softly asked. She didn’t know too much about Tony Stark, only what the media presented as well as a few anecdotes from Natasha and Steve. But everyone knew the man was a bit of a train wreck, and everyone knew his spiraling had begun after the death of his parents.

“No.” Steve sighed helplessly as his voice cracked. “I don’t know.”

He looked at her, eyes wet. “I don’t know how to.”

Sharon’s heart went out to the super-soldier and without thinking, she reached her hand out across the bedsheets and gave his arm a comforting squeeze.

“You’ll figure it out,” she promised. “You always do.”

Steve nodded and leaned back, but not before groaning in pain as his hand went to his stomach, right where Barnes had shot him. Sharon sent him a questioning look once his pain had subsided.

Steve sighed as he settled into his bed. “I’m still a bit sore from the…helicarriers.”

Wonderful, from one disconcerting topic onto the other. This was shaping up to be the most uncomfortable conversation Sharon had ever been a part of, and that’s including the time Fury gave her the birds and bees talk when she was in middle school.

“Steve,” she began delicately. “What happened up there?”

The super-soldier huffed out a frustrated breath. “We fought.”

Well, that much was apparent with the extent of the Avenger’s injuries. How best to broach the next subject? At this point, she might as well go all in. She had nothing to lose anymore.

“Did he pin you…or did you let him?”

Steve’s expression immediately went blank as he eyed her guardedly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he deflected weakly as Sharon bit her tongue.

“Cut the bullshit, Steve, I saw the damage done to you. You don’t get wounds like that if you’re fighting back, even against the Winter Soldier.”

“His _name_ is Bucky,” Steve growled. “And if you must know, he saved me. I would have drowned in the Potomac if it wasn’t for him.”

So her theory was correct after all. Barnes had dragged Steve out of the river and deposited him on the banks.

It clearly was a sensitive subject for Steve who had completely curled into himself, his body language clearly radiating distaste for their conversation as his lower lip trembled. Sharon felt her jaw go slack as she slumped back into her chair, dropping her head into her hand.

This really wasn’t how she expected this to go. And she was sick of it. She was tired of fighting with Steve.

“Look,” she offered as she glanced at her partner. “I didn’t come here to fight with you or force you to think about things you don’t want to.”

Steve swallowed thickly but nodded before he gazed at her for a long moment.

“We worked together for two years, and while I never fully trusted you, I did always trust you to have my back when the situation called for it,” he admitted before continuing on, “And you did. You were the only person who was consistently on my side, even when I didn’t want you to be. So I need you to be honest with me now. We took down Hydra together and I want to trust you, but you need to give me a reason to.”

Sharon quickly bobbed her head. She’d do anything to prove herself to Steve, to show that the last two years hadn’t been a sham. “Ask me anything. I’ll tell you the truth.”

Steve pondered this quietly before inquiring, “Why did you want to join SHIELD?”

“Easy,” Sharon countered. “I wanted to help people, make a difference in the world.”

Her stomach rolled at how false those hopes had ended up to be, but she kept the guilt to herself as Steve regarded her evenly.

Eventually, his lip curled up. “That easy, huh?”

“That easy, and…there was another reason. Probably the same reason that made you join.”

Steve’s brows furrowed for a moment before he realized what she was getting at.

“Peggy,” he breathed out, as Peggy’s name enveloped the blond pair.

Sharon fiddled with her fingers as she spoke reverently. “She has singularly been the biggest influence in my life. I just wanted to follow in her footsteps, make her proud.”

“If I know Peggy,” Steve contributed with a little smile. “I’ll bet she was over the moon.”

Sharon couldn’t help but laugh as an old memory entered her mind. “My mom tried to talk me out of enlisting, but not Aunt Peggy. She bought me my first thigh holster.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Very practical.”

“And stylish,” Sharon couldn’t help but interject as the two shared knowing grins. Steve’s eyes suddenly flashed playfully as he asked,

“So when you were lying to me-"

“You mean when I was doing my job?” Sharon smoothly cut in because no matter how chummy the two might become, she was never going to take his crap laying down. Had she hated lying? Yes. Was she going to spend the rest of eternity groveling for forgiveness over it? Not a chance. Rogers better learn that now.

“Agree to disagree,” Steve conceded before his gaze grew gentle. “So, uh, did Peggy know?”

Sharon was instantly reminded of when she sat at Peggy’s bedside, mouth open and ready to tell her aunt who her new partner was. And just like then she hesitated as she glanced down at her hands contemplatively.

“She’s kept so many secrets,” she softly explained, because Steve wasn’t there during the hardships with Jill, didn’t see how much it wrecked Peggy in the end. “I didn’t want her to have any from you.”

Steve looked at her for a long time, his eyes thankful before he looked away, collecting his thoughts. “Speaking about secrets, I don’t know anything about you, really. Tell me about yourself.”

Sharon blinked in surprise. “What do you want to know?”

The Avenger’s head lulled back as he pondered the question.

“Anything, everything. I’m not picky,” he mused idly. “The only thing I really know about you is that you attended Georgetown.”

Suddenly Steve’s expression was suspicious as he looked at her. “Please, tell me you did attend Georgetown.”

Sharon couldn’t help but giggle as she nodded her head. “I did, promise. It was a compromise from my parents. If I had had my way I would have enrolled in the Academy immediately following high school. My parents, however, wanted me to have a typical college experience.”

“How cruel of them,” Steve sarcastically quipped as Sharon snorted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Indeed. They were right, of course, as parents usually are. I loved most everything about my four years as a Hoya. I played lacrosse all four years, was a member of the fencing club, wrote for the _Hoya_ and I almost joined the Delta Phi Epsilon sorority.”

“Looks like you went above and beyond the typical college experience.”

Sharon performed an easy half shrug. “What can I say? I’m a bit of an overachiever.”

“What kind of student were you?”

Sharon’s lips upturned into a beaming smile as she bragged. “An exceptional one. Top of my class and I made the Dean’s List every semester. I majored in history and had a minor in journalism.”

They continued speaking of Sharon’s past until the super-soldier drifted off into a well-deserved nap. Sharon sat with him for a bit before finally leaving him to his rest. She took the elevator two floors down and came to a stop at the windows of a guarded hospital room. She peered in through the blinds as her eyes swept over the patient.

Brock Rumlow.

Her arm ached just remembering the vicious cut he had given her within the Trisk. She still had stitches and she already knew it would leave a brutal scar. A reminder of her time with the former STRIKE Commander.

His wounds were severe. More than 70% of his body had been savagely burned when one of the Insight Helicarriers had rammed into the Triskelion. He was currently in a coma and the doctor’s diagnosis wasn’t good.

He might not survive his injuries.

Sharon really didn’t have it in her to care. He was a Hydra asshole and if he died, he died. It was no skin off her back.

She just wanted to see him one last time before she forgot him.

After a moment she turned on her heel and left the hospital behind.

 

* * *

 

 

 

**_April 12 th, 2014_ **

**_Washington, D.C._ **

****

Today was the day. Rogers was getting discharged from the hospital. With his apartment in complete disarray after the shootout, Sam had volunteered to take the super-soldier in. He would have also picked the Avenger up from the hospital but was stuck at the VA tying up loose ends, so here Sharon was.

She was seated cross-legged on Steve’s hospital bed as he changed out of his gown and into civilian clothing in the adjoining bathroom. Sharon had the remote in her hand and changed the channel as CPAN began broadcasting the latest Congressional hearing on the events of Hydragate.

Today Natasha was speaking.

She was dressed in a sharp business suit, hair and makeup demure even as her eyes flashed dangerously as she was sworn in.

_“Do you solemnly swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth?”_

_“I do,”_ Natasha promised, hand poised on the Bible. Sharon couldn’t help but snort. One thing people should never expect from spies is the truth. The truth was always too messy, better to sell a lie.

Natasha elegantly seated herself, red hair vibrant amongst the sea of reporters and photographers who were hanging off her every word as she faced Congress head-on.

_“Why haven’t we yet heard from Captain Rogers?”_

Natasha was nonplussed as she folded her arms across her chest. _“I don’t know what there is left for him to say. I think the wreck in the middle of the Potomac made his point fairly eloquently.”_

Sharon’s mouth quirked as she watched Natasha continue mouthing off towards Congress.

_“Well, he could explain how this country's expected to maintain its national security now that he **and** you have laid waste to our intelligence apparatus.”_

Natasha’s eyes narrowed as she leaned across her table. _“Hydra was selling you lies, not intelligence.”_

_“Many of which you seem to have had a personal hand in telling.”_

_“Agent,”_ another Suit cut in. _“You should know that there are some on this committee who feel, given your service record, both for this country and against it, that you belong in a penitentiary, not mouthing off on Capitol Hill.”_

It wasn’t noticeable to the untrained eye, but Sharon could see the way Natasha tensed as her eyes turned cold.

 _“You're not gonna put me in a prison.”_ She met every single eye of the group of men staring down at her as she stated matter-of-factly, _“You're not gonna put any of us in a prison. You know why?”_

_“Enlighten us.”_

Natasha’s lips curled up. _“Because you need us. Yes, the world is a vulnerable place, and yes, we helped make it that way. But we're also the ones best qualified to defend it. So if you want to arrest me, arrest me. You'll know where to find me.”_

And with that, she stood and swept out of the chamber as cameras flashed. Sharon watched her go with a smile as yells broke throughout the room.

“You go, Nat.”

She clicked off the TV just as the bathroom door opened up and Steve ambled out in jeans and a tight, grey t-shirt that was doing wonders for his arms. His steps were slow and tentative, he still wasn’t a 100% from his fight with Barnes.

“Ready?” Sharon asked as he nodded and reached for his duffle bag. He was beaten by Sharon as she chucked it over her shoulder.

Steve huffed. “I can carry it.”

Sharon rolled her eyes as she began directing him out of the room. “You were shot three times. I can carry it.”

Steve gave in without much fuss – a sign of how tired he still was – as he allowed her to lead him to her car. He slipped carefully in as she tossed in the bag and got into the driver’s seat. She drove back to his Dupont Circle apartment so that he could pick up some clothing for the duration of his stay in Sam’s guest bedroom.

They had just reached his floor and were strolling down the hallway towards his abandoned apartment when a door opened and a woman popped out.

Agent 29.

All three came to a stop as they stared at each other. Agent 29 seem equally perplexed as she looked from Steve to Sharon.

“Oh, um, hi,” she squeaked, her southern accent easily slipping through as she crossed her arms.

“Captain Rogers,” she began. “I’m glad to see that you’re okay.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck as he nodded. “Thanks, Kate. I mean…” he trailed off as he truly didn’t know her name. He looked to Sharon who only shrugged. She didn’t know Twenty-Nine’s name either.

Agent 29 chuckled weakly. “Right. I’m sorry about that too. The lying…”

Steve waved her off. “You were just doing your job.” He snuck a peek at Sharon as he confirmed, “No harm, no foul.”

He continued on with a genuine grin. “Also, I just want to thank you for the pies, they were quite tasty. Almost as good as my ma’s.”

Twenty-Nine suddenly looked sheepish. “Well, in the case of our newfound honesty with one another, I have to tell you something. The pies were store bought. I’m a terrible baker.”

“Oh.” Steve blinked. “So the story of how it was a family recipe from South Carolina…?”

“All a part of my cover story,” Agent 29 affirmed. “I’m pretty method. Truth is, I’m from Waco.”

“Huh. Right. Spy, I got it.”

Now Twenty-Nine’s eyes swirled towards Sharon who with a grimace remembered the last time the two had _talked._

“Agent 13,” she greeted wearily and with good reason. Sharon had shocked him and then tied her up. She doubted there was much love lost between the former coworkers.

“Agent 29,” she hesitated but got on with it. “Sorry about the whole…”

“No, I got it.” Twenty-Nine shook her head. “And it’s no longer Agent 29. My name is Jacqueline Helm.”

She held her hand out to shake as Sharon reciprocated in kind. “Sharon Carter.”

Helm’s eyes went wide. “Carter…?”

“She’s my aunt,” Sharon supplied, no longer weighed down with the secret of her family lineage.

“Right,” Helm said as she batted her eyes. “Well it was nice to truly meet you, the _both_ of you,” she finished with a quick sideline to Rogers who nodded his head. They bid Helm goodbye as they slipped into Steve’s upended apartment.

It was clear an entire team of SHIELD agents had scrubbed the place in their search for the hard drive.

Steve only resignedly sighed and wasted no time in collecting some clothing from his bedroom. In under five minutes, he was ready to go. Sharon drove him to Sam’s house, dropping him off and had just re-entered her car when her phone beeped with a new text message. She reached for it, sliding the screen with her thumb.

**From Unknown Number:**

_I find myself in search of a good taco. Any recommendations?_

While most would be freaked by receiving a text from an absolute stranger, Sharon was good at reading in between the lines. It didn’t hurt that this coded language she had been following since she was a teenager. She quickly fired back a response.

**To Unknown Number:**

_One can never go wrong with KBBQ Box._

She threw her phone aside and gunned her Stingray, letting it take her to where the KBBQ Box food truck was always known to be situated in the afternoon. She parked near a grassy park, spotting the food truck in her periphery. She strolled around idly before plopping down on a park bench, enjoying the spring sunshine.

Minutes later a bulky clad body sat down next to her, a clear space in between the two. In his hands was a spicy pork taco box. Sharon kept her eyes forward bit discreetly checked out her seating companion.

Nick Fury looked remarkably good for a dead man.

He had ditched the leather trench coat for baggy jeans and an oversized hoodie sweater. His infamous eyepatch was also missing and instead both eyes were hidden behind dark shades.

“This is a new look,” she lowly directed as she spoke out of the corner of her mouth. Fury only nonchalantly shrugged in return as he bit into his taco.

“Call it the new me.” He chuckled to himself as he continued eating. Sharon gave him a few minutes to eat before she dove in.

“So, what’s the deal?”

“We've been data-mining HYDRA's files. Looks like a lot of rats didn't go down with the ship.”

Sharon’s heart flipped but it wasn’t a complete surprise to hear that. Hydra had 70 years to grow right beneath their noses. They may have exposed the terrorist organization to the world, but the battle at the Triskelion wouldn’t be enough to exterminate them.

Still…it made her sick to know they were still out there.

“I’m putting together a team to root them out. I thought I’d ask…” he let it hang it out in the open as Sharon continued to stare out across the park, watching a group of kids play basketball.

“Natasha going?” she finally asked after several long moments. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fury shake his head.

“She’ll go to ground, find some new covers, and start over somewhere.”

“And Hill?” Maria was Fury’s #2, she had a way of being in the same place he was.

“Nah, she’s getting out of the game. Plans on joining up with Stark Industries.”

Sharon could only imagine how much trouble Maria would get up to working for the likes of Tony Stark.

So this was it. They were all scattering into the wind.

It really was the end of SHIELD.

“So,” Fury wheedled. “You in?”

Sharon leaned back into the wood of the bench as she pondered the question at hand. It’s not like she hadn’t thought about it. She was 28, she needed something to do with her life. And the skillset she had developed at SHIELD could only be used in so many fields.

Mainly espionage.

So did she? Want to dive right back into the spy game? Especially going after the likes of Hydra?

Could she?

Her mind was going a million miles an hour but she knew what she needed to do.

“No,” she spoke crisply as a sense of calm settled over her. “After everything that’s happened…I need a break.”

If Fury was disappointed, he didn’t show it. He only asked pragmatically, “What are you doing to do?”

Sharon chuckled as she shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ll figure out something.”

“You always do. I’m meeting with Rogers and Wilson at my grave on Friday. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Fury stood and vanished just as quickly as he had appeared. Sharon didn’t watch him go but continued to enjoy the sunlight of the afternoon.

 

* * *

 

 

**_April 15 th, 2014_ **

**_Washington, D.C._ **

****

Friday found Sharon in her apartment, sipping coffee as she looked through the file reports she had taken from the Archives. She had just poured her second cup when she heard a sound from her front door, a scrap of something over her floors.

Her hand immediately went to her hip where her Glock was resting as she silently made her way down the hallway towards her front door.

She came to the door, expecting a fight, but only found that a file had been shoved under her door.

She lowered her gun and hesitantly picked up the file. It was old and worn. Resting atop it was a sticky note with familiar handwriting.

_Think of this as my parting gift. I’ll see you when I see you._

Sharon ran her fingers over the sticky note as she faintly smiled. “Thanks, Nat.”

She tore it off and peered down at the file folder, Russian words splattered across it. Sharon’s heartbeat quickened as she realized what she was holding in her hands. She cautiously opened the folder, her eyes immediately landing on two pictures of Barnes.

One was him as a young man during the war, hat tipped rakishly to the side as he grinned broadly, having not yet witnessed the horrors of war.

The other was of him in his cryo-tank, completely frozen in time.

Sharon’s heart clenched as she briefly glimpsed other pages, eyes flashing across pictures, sketches, diagrams, etc.

She only looked at it for five minutes and she already felt sick. God, how could they do _that_ to a human being?

She slammed the folder shut and every being of her soul wanted to throw it away, tear it apart, torch it so that its horrors could never be shared with someone as kind as Steve.

But if Steve stood a chance of tracking down his friend, she’d have to pass it along.

So with a heavy heart, she dressed in a dark jacket and boots and headed to Arlington where Fury’s _grave_ was situated.

She came upon it just as she heard Fury’s parting words to Steve and Sam.

“Anybody asks for me, tell them they can find me right here.” With a nod of his head, the former SHIELD Director departed, weaving through gravestones.

“You should be honored,” Sharon spoke as both men whirled to face her. “That’s about as close as he gets to saying thank you.”

Steve rubbed his neck as he stepped towards her, Sam tilting his head with a grin as he gave the two blonds some space.

“Not going with him?” Steve asked, a surprised twinge in his voice as Sharon snorted.

“Definitely not.”

“Staying here?” he asked as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, regarding her lightly in the afternoon sun.

“I’m…” she trailed off before shaking her head. “Figuring things out.”

Steve nodded once as she decided to get to the heart of the matter. She pulled out the folder and handed it over to the super-soldier.

“Natasha called in a few favors from Kiev.”

Steve’s breath caught in his throat as he took it from her with unsteady fingers. Sharon watched him intently as he flipped over to the first page, spying the photos of Barnes. His jaw clenched, muscles ticking as he took it all in.

Finally, after a tense moment, he shut the folder and looked up at her, gaze softening.

“So, this is it, huh? The end of the road.”

Sharon felt a smile growing at the corner of her mouth as she jokingly cooed. “Aw, Rogers. Are you going to miss me?”

Steve’s eyes flashed with mischief as he bantered, “It’s a pain to break in a new partner.”

Sharon glanced behind them to where Sam was keeping guard. “Well, from the looks of it, I think you’re in good hands. He’ll have your back.”

She looked back at the super-soldier. “We had a good run, minus a few bumps and bruises, and the complete ruination of the intelligence apparatus in the United States. But it’s like they say, nothing lasts forever.”

Steve considered her for a long moment before asking, “You’ll keep in touch?”

Sharon couldn’t help but snort in response. “As what? Your ex-partner you didn’t trust the majority of the time we worked together? Or the great-niece of your wartime sweetheart?”

Steve, as always, had a way of surprising her. “I was thinking as a friend.”

Startled, Sharon blinked up at him, feeling a warmth flood her system as she bit back a smile.

“I like the sound of that.”

Steve stuck out his hands and with a huff, Sharon batted it away before reaching up and pulling the man into a hug. She held on tightly for a moment, head tucked into his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Good luck,” she whispered into his ear before releasing him. With a final nod, she pivoted on her heel and began walking away, until a nagging thought stopped her. She turned her head, locking eyes with Steve.

“Be careful, Steve,” she warned. “You might not want to pull on that thread.”

She kept walking, leaving the cemetery behind.

All around her it was a brave, new world.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, another day. We got some Civil War foreshadowing going on, getting a little bit into Steve's head on why he waited so long to tell Tony about his parents' death. Also got to incorporate Steve & Sharon's conversation at Peggy's funeral into this story. 
> 
> And now they're friends! Things can only go up from here for Blonde Squared. All the possibilities are endless going forward.
> 
> Thank you so much for the previous reviews! I love receiving them. They make my day. Please keep 'em coming. They are such a great motivating factor. 
> 
> Also, not to self promote too much, but if you're a fan of T'Challa/Bucky, I've written a few oneshots of them. I have a new one coming out soon that will also have Staron in it. 
> 
> Pic time!
> 
> Sharon at the Archives:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/38515427340/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Sharon meeting Fury:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/38515427270/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Sharon's outfit at the cemetery:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/39426654455/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/39426654515/in/dateposted-public/)   
> 


	12. The Blood on My Hands Scares Me to Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did you kill any of them?” Natasha’s voice was deceptively nonchalant.
> 
> Sharon ignored the sting of tears in the corner of her eye as she forced the single word out, “One.”
> 
> She was blinking rapidly as her bottom lip quivered. “I killed an innocent man, and I can’t stop thinking about it.”

**_April 20 th, 2014_ **

**_Washington, D.C._ **

 

All Sharon could taste was bile as she hunched over her toilet, hands gripping the porcelain tightly, vomiting into the bowl. Her chest was heaving, blood rushing through her head as she continued gagging.

Finally, the tremors ceased and her body was entirely void of anything she had eaten that day. With shaking hands, she pushed down on the handle as the toilet nosily flushed. She gracelessly plopped down onto her butt as she struggled to get her breathing under control, tears stinging her eyes as the world spun around her.

She had killed a man, an _innocent_ man.

Dr. Candon Bayar.

The man had been on the cusp of curing cancer, but SHIELD (Hydra) had convinced her that he was paving the way for a new form of biological warfare.

And what had she done? She had chased that poor, defenseless man throughout the streets of Istanbul until, in his desperation, he had run into a busy street and was hit and killed instantly by a speeding car.

She had never even questioned her mission.

She could still hear the man’s frantic voice in her head as he pleaded for his life in broken English. Somehow, he had known of Hydra’s existence. Somehow, he had been trying to tell her the truth, to make her understand.

_“The heads! The heads!”_

And now he was dead and it was _her_ fault.

Her stomach recoiled again and it was only by sheer force of will that she didn’t upchuck again. She didn’t know how long she remained seated on her tiled bathroom floor before she pushed herself up onto wobbly feet, her knees knocking together as she left the bathroom and wandering back into her living room.

Or rather, Ground Zero as she had dubbed it.

What had once been a clean, aesthetically pleasing living room now looked like a bomb of paperwork had gone off in it. Files were scattered on every available space, covering her couch, coffee table, and dining room table as well. Piles of paper were all over the floor, making it near impossible to move across the space without playing an insane version of the floor is lava.

Ever since the demise of SHIELD, Sharon had locked herself up in her apartment, combing through every mission report she had ever completed. It had been an exhausting marathon, and in the last five days, she had hardly slept or eaten. Not that she could with the guilt of the unknown eating away at her.

But now she knew. Now she knew what Hydra had made her do, what strings they had been pulling on.

It made her sick.

She was only just regaining some sense of internal calm when it was shattered by the ringing of her cell phone. With a deep exhale she reached for the device and looked down at who was calling her.

**Steve Rogers**

Sharon tensed as she stared down at the screen. She and Steve hadn’t spoken since her handoff of Barnes’ file at Fury’s grave. Things might be on the up and up with the two, but she still didn’t quite know where they stood or where to go from here.

And now…well, at the moment he was the last person she wanted to talk to.

But if he was calling, there must be a reason for it. So with some sense of trepidation, she accepted the call and brought the phone up to her ear.

“Steve-"

 _“Turn on the news.”_ The Avenger’s voice was oddly insistent as it echoed in her ear.

“What?” Sharon blinked in surprise as she ran a hand through her hair. “Steve, now’s not really a good time-"

 _“Sharon, just turn on the news.”_ A beat of silence passed through the line. _“Please.”_

It was the _please_ that grabbed Sharon’s attention. In the nearly two years she had known Steve, he had never begged for anything. So whatever this was, it was important. With only some vocal grumbling (more for show than anything else, lest he thinks she was going soft on him) she turned on her TV and flipped through the channels before coming upon the local news.

**BREAKING NEWS: LOCAL BANK ON FIRE**

True to form, the video displayed across her flat screen was indeed a bank on fire, blazing into the night as a reporter stood on sight, relaying the known facts.

“Alright, I’m looking,” Sharon informed the super-soldier, still not seeing the correlation. “All I see is a bank on fire. Tragic. Why would I care about that?”

 _“It’s a Hydra facility,"_ was Steve’s grim response. Sharon raised an eyebrow in return, interest finally piqued.

“Yeah?” she asked. “How do you know for sure?”

_“It’s in Bucky’s file. It’s the Hydra facility they house him in whenever he’s in DC.”_

His tone was terse and she could only guess that he was using all of his self-control not to crush the cellphone in his hand. Sharon’s heart immediately went out to her former partner. The revelation that Barnes was still alive had slammed into Steve like a semi and he hadn’t recovered since. She imagined he wouldn’t until he found his wayward friend. There hadn’t been any sightings of Barnes since the helicarriers had come falling out of the sky. He had vanished, completely off the grid.

Simply speaking, he was a ghost, using all of his years as a Hydra operative to disappear.

“So?” she asked, a tad impatient and still reeling from her trip down the rabbit hole that was her SHIELD past. She knew this was important to Steve, but man, she was so raw at the moment that she couldn’t find much in the way of empathy.

“Do you have a game plan?”

_“Sam and I are going to search the wreckage tonight, once the police and cameras clear out. I want you there.”_

A part of Sharon wanted to say no. The last thing she wanted was to search through any more of SHIELD and Hydra’s hidden secrets. She was so tired, but…but Steve was going to do this, hell or high water.

And he needed allies. He needed _friends._

And apparently, that’s why they were now. And Sharon was a lot of things, but she wasn’t a crummy friend.

She hung her head as she blew out a breath, eyes trained on her feet.

“Alright,” she conceded. “I’m in.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hours later found Sharon pulling up to the scene of the crime. She parked her Stingray and stalked out of her car, hidden by the cover of night. The bank was entirely gone, nothing left but ashes and some of the internal structure. It was lined off with yellow tape, though it wouldn’t be effective from keeping out certain people.

Sharon easily spotted Steve and Sam loitering in the shadows, both dressed in dark, nondescript clothing and sporting leather jackets.

“Boys,” she greeted easily, hands in the pocket of her own leather jacket as she came to a stop in front of them.

“Hey,” Sam replied as Steve nodded his head. He seemed a bit jittery as he shifted from foot to foot. Sharon could understand why. This was possibly his first lead in his quest for Barnes.

But still…she had to ask. “Are you sure about this?”

She ignored the withering glare Steve threw her way as he bobbed his head obstinately. “Of course.”

Sharon sighed resignedly. “Alright, let’s do the damn thing.”

The three discreetly weaved their way through the darkness, avoiding streetlights as they crept under the tape and began fanning out through the charred remains of what once was the Ideal Federal Savings Bank.

Sharon flicked on a flashlight as she gingerly sidestepped through the rubble, eyes and ears alert. “How do you know Hydra didn’t burn the bank?”

“Why would they?” Steve countered as he pushed aside some debris.

“I don’t know,” Sharon retorted as she looked around. “To cover their tracks?”

She didn’t miss the dry look the super-soldier shot her. “Their dirty secrets are already all over the internet, it’d be overkill to start torching everything. No, this was Bucky. I know it.”

There was such concrete belief in his statement as if saying so made it true by virtue alone. The way Steve believed in his friend was astounding, to say the least. God, the last time Sharon had put such faith into something, it had been SHIELD. And look where she was now. She was just as ruined as this bank. For Steve’s sake, she hoped his belief in his friend would be rewarded.

“Yo, Blonde Squared,” Sam called out from across the bank. “I think I found something.”

The two blondes exchanged a look before hurrying over to Sam. The VA counselor was standing before a staircase that traveled deep below the bank’s foundation. It was still standing if slightly singed from the fire damage.

“The vault’s down there,” Sam noted as he held up his flashlight.

“Good place to hide something important,” Sharon mused thoughtfully as Steve’s jaw clenched.

“Yeah, and a good place to hide your _asset._ ” He spat out the word, hands curling into fists. It was clear that the file on Barnes was getting to him. Sharon worried that would be the case. She had only looked at it for a minute and was still haunted by what she had seen. She couldn’t begin to imagine how Steve felt after pouring over the document for the last several days.

With a determined gait, Steve marched down the stairs as Sharon and Sam ambled after him. The lower echelons of the bank were better preserved than the top, but much of the metal containers holding money and precious items had been melted by the high temperatures of the fire, twisting and turning them into grotesque things.

They entered into the deeply entrenched vaults and it was clear from the moment they stepped in that this was where the fire had originated. The room was scorched with an absolute single-minded viciousness.

If she hadn’t believed Steve before about Barnes torching the bank, she definitely did now. Whatever was done in this room was born out of rage and hatred. Scattered amongst the ruin were the remains of several charred computers as well as some kind of ruined machinery focused around some kind of metal chair.

It stood eerily in the center of the room, the warped machinery wrapped around it like some kind of sick halo.

Steve froze as soon as his eyes locked onto it. He was taut, nostrils flaring as he breathed heavily through his nose. His blue eyes had gone iridescent with barely suppressed fury as he stared.

Sam blew out a sympathetic breath, shoulders sagging, as Sharon glanced questioningly at him.

“The chair,” was all he said, voice low as he kept his eyes locked onto Steve’s back.

“What chair?” she whispered back, trying to be subtle. But with Steve’s enhanced abilities it was a lost cause.

“Bucky’s chair,” he barked out hoarsely, emotions completely on displayed as he took trembling steps towards the apparatus. He circled it, eyes wide in horror and grief.

“It’s in the file,” he explained hollowly, never taking his eyes off the chair. “This is how Hydra made him forget everything about himself...everything about _me_.”

Sharon’s stomach recoiled at the revelation and if she had any food in her system, she was pretty sure she’d be unloading it all over the soot-covered floor. No wonder Barnes had completely set the place on fire to the place that had stripped him of his humanity, time after time.

“He remembers you,” Sharon softly reassured as Steve sucked in a choked breath. “He pulled you from the Potomac, didn’t he? He has to remember you.”

Steve finally looked away from the abomination, his face still a wreck. “Yeah.”

“Let’s look around,” Sam suggested as he began casing the room. “Maybe there’s a clue or some shit like that.”

Steve swallowed before nodding and turned his body entirely away from the chair. Sharon watched him for several more moments before beginning the search herself. It didn’t take long to stumble upon something.

“Over here,” Sam directed as he kneeled down next to the ruined computers. Sharon and Steve flanked his sides as they flashed their lights down upon the mangled wreckage.

“Look at this,” Sam pointed to the screens. While the fire had done the fair share of the damage wrought upon them, it didn’t explain the shattered remains of the screens. That kind of damage was man-made. Someone had punched them out.

Someone with a great amount of strength…

“Is the hard drive still viable?” Sharon asked pragmatically as she began digging through her pockets.

“Maybe,” Sam said as he poked around before raising an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because,” she remarked as she found what she was looking for and yanked it out. “It may tell us what Barnes’ next move is.”

Sam was openly skeptical as he stared at the small round device held up in her hand. “Yeah, and how’s that?”

“Labyrinth,” she explained as if it was obvious. And if Sam had been a SHIELD agent it would have been.

Luckily Steve stepped in and mediated. “It’s a SHIELD device, can encrypt anything really.”

“Even better than that,” Sharon interjected as she took the hard drive from Sam. “It can hack into the database of the computer and bring up its last image, even if the machine was destroyed or, in our case, nearly burned to bits.”

She attached the device as it flashed to life, rooting through the gigabytes at a blinding speed. Moments later the SHIELD phone Sharon had pawned off Maria at the bunker beeped in her pocket. She pulled it out to see it displaying the last known image on the computer.

With a flick of her finger, the image appeared as a crisp, blue hologram in front of the three. Sam’s eyes went round in surprise at the image. Sharon studied the slightly warped picture (the fire damage was extensive, after all).

“Hmm,” she pondered as she brought her hand up to her chin contemplatively.

“What is it?” Sam inquired as he stepped up next to her.

“A map,” Steve answered easily enough and the longer she stared at it she had to agree with the super-soldier’s assessment.

“Of what?”

“Austria, I believe,” Sharon stated as the pieces of the puzzle began to form together. “If I had to guess, I’d say Salzburg. See, there’s the Salzach and Hohensalzburg Castle.”

She pointed to the two landmarks and was rewarded with Steve’s coveted nod of agreement. “The question is,” he said as he stepped towards the hologram and said, “What is that?”

He pointed to a red dot that was located south of the Austrian city, near the Schellenberger Forst.

“If I was a betting man,” Steve carried on, jaw muscles ticking. “I’d say it was another Hydra facility.”

“It could be,” Sharon assented. “No way to tell for sure. All the files are still being decoded.”

Even now, three weeks out since the fall of SHIELD, Hydragate was still the topic of major news stations. It didn’t help that the Government was slowly but surely working their way through all the encrypted files that Natasha had dumped onto the internet. Still, it would take months maybe even years to expose all of Hydra’s secrets.

“Why would he care about a single Hydra facility?” Steve pondered aloud, hands planted on his hips.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Sharon retorted with an arched eyebrow.

“What?” Sam jumped in. “You think he’s hunting them down, one by one?”

Sharon gestured to the incinerated room they were currently standing in. “He burned down this facility, who’s to say he won’t burn them all?”

“Sharon’s right,” Steve cut in. “Whatever Bucky’s looking for: revenge, answers, orders; he seems to be looking for them at facilities such as this one. He’ll go to Salzburg and after that, well…”

He trailed off, mouth turned down before he found his words. “Let’s just hope we find him before he gets to that.”

Steve sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck as he turned towards Sam hesitantly. “So what do you say, Sam? Ever been to Salzburg?”

Sam’s flat look said it all, but he straightened his shoulders and soldiered on. “I’ll book the tickets,” he muttered as he pulled out his phone and directed a nod towards Sharon as he began heading out of the vaults to get service.

She raised her hand for a wave as she called out cheerfully to his back, “See you, Birdman.”

“Right back at ya, C-Money,” he volleyed back without missing a beat, causing a smile to cross her face as both blondes watched him disappear up the stairs.

Steve bemusedly raise an eyebrow as he peered down at her. “Nicknames? Already?”

Sharon could only grin slyly in response. “Jealous?”

“Immensely,” he expertly deadpanned with a roll of his eyes. Sharon’s grin remained on her face before it slipped off, leaving a melancholy curl of her lips as she looked around the ruins among them. Steve frowned as he studied her.

“You okay? You seem…off.”

Sharon weakly snorted as she shoved her hands in her pockets. “How astute of you.”

Steve nudged her shoulder with his, forcing her to meet his earnest, All-American gaze. “Really though, you doing okay?”

“Out of the three of us,” Sharon smoothly deflected. “Only one is even remotely close to being a certified therapist and it isn’t you.”

Steve huffed out a laugh as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. “I know, but still, you can talk to me.”

“Really?” Sharon questioned with genuine surprise marring her face.

“Yeah, it’s what friends do, right?” He shrugged easily. “They talk. We can talk…if you want.”

Sharon’s heart threatened to turn to goo at the warmth that spread throughout her body. She brushed a hand through her hair as a way to distract herself. “Look, Steve, I’m fine.”

Steve was clearly unconvinced as he leveled her with a look. Sharon threw up her hands in frustration.

“Alright, I’ll _be_ fine, someday. For now, I’m…figuring things out.”

Steve bobbed his head. “Yeah, I know how you feel.”

Sharon glanced at him out of the corner of her eye before letting her eyes dart away. “C’mon, let’s get out of here before this all caves in.”

They gingerly made their way back topside and found Sam waiting for them on the sidewalk.

“We’re good to go,” he said as they approached him. “We’re catching the first flight out tomorrow morning.”

The three stood together in a triangle as Sharon looked at the two men. “Well, I hope you boys find what you’re looking for.”

Steve flashed her a weak smile. “Thanks. Also for coming down here, you didn’t have too…”

Sharon waved him off glibly. “It was the least I could do. I’ll keep an ear pressed to the ground, if I hear anything, I’ll pass it along.”

Now Steve’s grin was more genuine as he straightened. “Thanks, Sharon.”

Sharon placed her eyes on Sam and said teasingly, “I’m expecting you to keep this lug in line.”

Sam’s shoulders shook with amusement as his lips quirked up. “I’ll try my best, but no promises. He’s as problematic as they come.”

“Don’t I know it,” Sharon easily agreed as Steve sputtered, eyes bouncing back and forth between his two closest allies.

“Everyone’s a comedic,” he muttered under his breath as Sam and Sharon shared knowing smiles.

With that the three said their goodbyes and then Sharon was slipping into her car, driving away and leaving behind the wreckage of the bank. Soon enough she was back at her apartment building and entered through her front door.

All the lights were off in the apartment, just as she had left it, but even as she shut her door she knew something was off. With silent fingers, she pulled out the pistol hidden under the waistband of her jeans and slowly stalked down the hallway. She has just undone the safety before jumping into her living room, ready to face the unseen threat.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” a silky smooth voice announced from the shadows. “Truly, stacks and stacks of paper suits you.”

Sharon couldn’t help but be stupefied as she stood in the darkness of her living room.

“Nat?” She flicked on the switch as light engulfed them. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be off, finding new covers.”

Natasha stood amongst the chaos and clutter that was Sharon’s living room. She had chopped off her hair and had died it several shades darker. Her once sleek hair was now voluminous with thick curls framing her face. She was fashionably attired in all black with a mini-dress and leather jacket thrown over.  

“I am,” Natasha concurred with a nod of her head. “I’m heading out tonight to parts unknown. Thought I’d check in before that. Good thing I did. What is all this?” She gestured to the mounds of files and paperwork that was pooling over every available space.

“Mission reports,” Sharon replied, self-consciously crossing her arms over her chest as she watched Natasha walk through them, eyes roving calculatedly over the Intel.

“SHIELD’s?” she asked with a hum, her fingers running over the SHIELD logo on one report. She must have gotten a high-end manicure, her scarlet nails gleaming.

Sharon swallowed before nodding.

“Your mission reports," the assassin correctly ascertained. “What are you doing with them?”

“I’m searching for the truth.”

Natasha arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow as Sharon continued. “I’m trying to find which missions I ran that were actually Hydra’s doing.”

Natasha’s probing eyes locked onto Sharon’s as she sighed.

“Sharon…”

Sharon shook her head as she stepped further into the living room. “You told me once that you have red in your ledger.” She looked sorrowfully at the files scattered around. “This is mine.”

Natasha regarded her for a long moment before asking, “How many?”

“As far as I can tell,” Sharon replied heavily as she looked around. “Three missions, three targets.”

“Did you kill any of them?” Natasha’s voice was deceptively nonchalant.

Sharon ignored the sting of tears in the corner of her eye as she forced the single word out. “One.”

She was blinking rapidly as her bottom lip quivered. “I killed an innocent man, and I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” was Natasha’s pragmatic response. It did nothing to clinch the erratic beating of Sharon’s battered heart.

“Yeah,” she bitterly snorted. “Try telling that to my brain.”

“Look,” Natasha’s voice was insistent as she took a step towards the blonde. “When you do something terrible you can’t fix it. You can’t displace the guilt or will your terrible deed away. Trust me, I know. The pain you feel, the gnawing guilt?”

Sharon met Natasha’s gaze as the redhead continued on. “Learn to live with it. Because it’s not going anywhere. It’s your new constant companion, taunting you at every turn. All you can do is try and do better.”

Now Natasha was standing right in front of her friend. “So do better, Sharon.”

Sharon breathed in uneasily as she looked down at her feet, feeling vulnerable and exposed. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Well, I can’t help you with that,” Natasha coolly said as she pivoted on her heel and slung her purse over her shoulder, beginning to head towards the front door.

“Only advice I can give is to tell you to get a life. You’re turning into a sap.”

Sharon couldn’t help but grin at the words as she watched Natasha go. “Yeah, but you love me anyway, right?”

Natasha stopped before looking at Sharon over her shoulder for a long moment. And just for a second, her eyes flashed with deep-seated fondness before it disappeared into impassivity.

“Stay safe, Sharon.”

It wasn’t until the front door clicked shut that Sharon whispered, “You too, Nat.”

 

* * *

 

 

**_April 24 th, 2014_ **

**_Richmond, VA_ **

****

“You have such pretty hair,” Amanda Carter complimented as she ran her fingers through Sharon’s hair. Her only child was sprawled across the couch, head in her mother’s lap as Sharon nuzzled into the gentle ministrations.

“You should be thanking yourself,” Sharon murmured, eyes closed as she allowed the affection to sweep over her, making her feel like a small child again. “It’s due to your genes, after all.”

Drifting in through the open French doors was the sound of talking and laughter as Harrison Carter manned the grill for an extended family BBQ.

“You’re right,” Amanda agreed with a teasing grin. “My genes are awesome.”

Sharon couldn’t help but chuckled as she relaxed further into her Mom’s comforting body. After the last month, she had had, comfort and normality were desired commodities. Suddenly the peace and quiet were disturbed by the beeping of the oven in the kitchen.

“Ah!” Amanda exclaimed as she sat up. “That’d be my famous double chocolate chip cookies. Up, up!”

She gently but assertively rolled Sharon off of her, ignoring her daughter’s put out groans and mumblings as she bounded off the couch. Sharon watched her go with a pout before pushing herself off the couch and wandering through the open doors out into the backyard.

Her cousin Cara and husband Elliot were at the patio table chatting away with Sharon’s Aunt Judy and Uncle Frank. Daphne was chasing the twins through the backyard as all three squealed in delight at their little game.

It was a bright, sunny spring day that almost begged to be spent outside. Sharon padded barefoot across the soft grass, leaving her family behind, as she plopped down into a wooden lawn chair. She sank back into in, pushing sunglasses over her eyes before tilting her head back, allowing the warm sun to kiss her skin.

She didn’t know how long she sat out there, enjoying the peace and quiet when her ears perked up at the sound of proclamation that rose up from her various family members. She turned her head to see that Greer and her girlfriend, Antonia, had arrived to much goodwill and cheer. Sharon raised her hand in greeting when Greer glanced curiously over at her.

It really was no surprise when a few minutes later Greer was flinging herself into the available seat next to Sharon and passing her a cold bottle of beer. With the light humidity, the glass bottle already had a sheen of condensation on it as Sharon gripped the slipper bottle, enjoying the refreshing taste as she took a hearty swig.

“Good to see you alive and well,” Greer addressed as she tucked her legs under herself and made herself comfortable.

“I would hope you’d know I was alive,” Sharon countered easily. “My mom sent out a bulletin on the Facebook group.”

“Ah yes,” Greer mused. “I remember now. Really, I wouldn’t have cared either way.”

“Hardy-har-har,” Sharon sarcastically quipped. “You’re hilarious.”

Greer smirked slyly in return. “I like to think so. So…”

Sharon raised an eyebrow. “So…what?”

“What was it like? Being there, when those flying ships came out of the sky?”

Sharon’s eyes clouded over as she looked ahead. “It was…a lot.”

Greer snorted. “Learning you worked for a crazy Nazi cult sure would do it.”

Sharon breathed out deeply, still partially numb to the whole affair. “Yeah, yeah it would.”

Greer took a generous sip of her beer before she began fiddling with the half-empty bottle.

“You’ve been thinking of what you’re going to do now?”

Sharon froze momentarily before forcing herself to unwind the tension now rocketing through her body.

She shrugged halfheartedly. “I haven’t given much thought to it.”

That was a lie. It was all she could think about, really. What would she do next? What could she do? She had a history degree from Georgetown, but it wasn’t her lifelong passion. She could have joined up with Fury, take out Hydra, but the last thing she wanted to do was even think about Hydra let alone devote her days to hunting them down. She could go into the private sector like Maria, but she didn’t think she was cut out for something like that.

She had a particular skill set and she didn’t know what to do with it.

Greer scoffed from her seat as she glared at her cousin. “You’re a spy, Sharon, through and through. You’re nothing without it. Besides the point that you’re _good_ at it.”

“Please,” Sharon retorted. “I’m great at it.”

It was true. She was a great spy. If not for the reveal of Hydra she could have become one of the greats at SHIELD. Hell, maybe even one day be its Director.

She had had so much potential…and now she had no idea what to do with it.

_Do better, Sharon._

Natasha’s words danced through her head, as they had been doing so for days. She wanted to do better, but how? What could she do? Who could she be? She wasn’t an Avenger or a superhero or anyone of any real importance.

But she wanted to do her part, somehow.

“You know,” Greer interjected. “If you wanted to get back into the game, I’d know of a way.”

“What?” Sharon asked in confusion. “How?”

Greer couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Working with me, dumbass.”

Sharon’s eyes went wide. “What? At the CIA?”

“No,” Greer dryly bantered. “On Mars. Duh, at the CIA. We could use someone like you. You’re more than qualified. And while it’s not SHIELD, it’s not a half bad gig.”

Sharon stared at her fair cousin for a long time, processing Greer’s words.

The CIA…the thought had never even made a blip on her radar. These last few weeks she had been so consumed by SHIELD, Hydra and her underlying guilt at the things she had unknowingly done that job prospects (particularly ones for the Government) had gone completely to the backburner.

But it wasn’t an entirely unreasonable idea.

Civilian life and all its trappings were already beginning to grate on the blonde. She spent her days doing nothing, really. She was directionless. Steve and Sam had their quest for Barnes, Natasha was building a new cover, and she had nothing.

She was just here…taking up space.

_Do better, Sharon._

Maybe, just maybe, it was time to stop wallowing and time to take a stand. She’d never enjoy espionage the way she had at SHIELD, she’d never be as trusting of an intelligence organization ever again, but maybe she could find some absolution.

Maybe, she could still make the world a better place.

So with a determined deep breath, she turned fully towards Greer.

“Tell me more.”

 

* * *

 

 

**_April 30 th, 2014_ **

**_Langley, VA_ **

****

“I’ve been made aware that you were at the Triskelion when SHIELD fell.”

Sharon fiddled with the dark buttons of her blazer as she internally groaned. She was already two hours deep into her CIA interview and the entire time she had been waiting for a question such as this.

She looked up, regarding the steely woman sitting across the desk from her.

“Yes, I was there. I attempted to stop the Insight Helicarriers from ever ascending. It did not work, obviously.”

The wreckage still visible in the Potomac was a testament to how much of a failure her plan had been.

The woman’s face gave nothing away as she read over Sharon’s file.

“You were Captain Rogers’ partner were you not?”

Sharon nodded once. “Yes, I was.”

“And it was Captain Rogers who brought down SHIELD, correct?”

Sharon bristled but kept her calm as she levelly replied. “He _exposed_ Hydra, yes.”

“And you helped him. Why?”

Sharon narrowed her eyes as she leaned in closer. “Because it was the right thing to do. I’d do it again, every time.”

“Hmm,” the woman said in response, passive as ever. Sharon typically had a good read on people, it was her job after all, but this woman was a tough nut to crack.

“And you’re related to Margaret Carter, are you not?”

Sharon looked down at her lap before bobbing her head. “She’s my great-aunt.”

“Huh,” the woman mused. “Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?”

Sharon breathed out through her nose. “One could say espionage runs in the family.”

“You have a lot of people vouching on you and your abilities,” the woman began as she rooted through her paperwork. “Our own Agent Martin, Maria Hill, even Captain Rogers sent us a letter of recommendation.”

That caught Sharon’s attention as she perked up. She had texted Steve in passing telling him she was applying for a job in the CIA. She would have never guessed he’d do that for her.

“It’s clear how talented you are, however, the matter of your former allegiances remains _murky._ ”

“I had no idea about Hydra and the second I did, I helped burn them to the ground, even though it meant I had to destroy my aunt’s legacy. My _allegiances_ should never come into question. I’m a spy, I lie and I deceive and I’ll even kill when the mission calls for it, but I do it because I believe that sometimes actions such as those – as terrible as they are – are necessary to ensure a better, safer world for people living in it. So, no, I won’t apologize for that. I worked for SHIELD because I believed in SHIELD and when I was proven wrong, I did everything I could to fix those mistakes. If I work for the CIA, it will be because I believe in the CIA.”

A tense silence followed and Sharon pretty much assumed she had blown any chance she had at gaining employment. She sighed heavily, prepping herself to stand and walk out of the room and go fling herself into the Potomac when a slight smile crossed the woman’s stern face.

“You’re a bit much, aren’t you?”

Sharon only raised her shoulder in a half shrug as she cracked her knuckles. “I’ve been feeling a lot of emotions since losing my previous job. It bubbles up from time to time.”

“Well, I have to say,” the woman said as she leaned back into her chair. “I admire your spunk. Your file is exemplary, you are, for all intents and purposes, an ideal candidate. You would be put to good use here, especially now with the world so rapidly changing due to superheroes and supervillains.”

Sharon blinked in surprise, unexpected happiness beginning to take hold.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

The woman smirked as she held her hand out.

“Welcome to the CIA, Agent Carter.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if anyone recalls, but way back in the first story, when there was that poker game at SHIELD, the 'Heads Guy' Sharon was talking about was indeed Dr. Bayar. All this time this mission has stuck with Sharon and now she knows it was Hydra's doing. Yikes! I swear, I'll stop emotionally beating up Sharon moving forward now that she has some purpose in her life again by working for the CIA. Natasha's in the wind and Steve & Sam have officially begun they're Up All Night to Get Bucky World Tour. It's sad to see the crew splintered across the globe. Hopefully they'll meet up for some shenanigans. 
> 
> I threw in the Easter Egg of Sharon one day hoping to be Director of SHIELD, as in the comics she has held the position. Also, Greer will be a bigger character moving forward. 
> 
> The Labyrinth decoder I totally made up. I don't know much about computers, so forgive me if what I made is completely impossible, but in the MCU anything seems plausible. 
> 
> Thank you for all the previous reviews, kudos, bookmarks, etc. I love recieving them! 
> 
> Pic time! 
> 
> Sharon at the bank:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/40419935062/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Natasha's new hair:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/39753292174/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Natasha's outfit:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/39753292304/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Sharon at the Carter BBQ:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/40419927992/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/40419927912/in/dateposted-public/)   
> 
> 
> Sharon at her CIA interview:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/39753292404/in/dateposted-public/)


	13. We're Not Who We Used to Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No,” Peggy adamantly shook her head, “You cannot blame yourself for SHIELD. I won’t let you. What happened, happened. There’s no going back.”
> 
> Tears continued to fall freely from Sharon’s eyes, weighing down her eyelashes as she looked to her aunt.
> 
> “Then why does it hurt so much?” she choked out as Peggy’s gaze softened.
> 
> “Because you loved it, dearest. I loved it too.”

**_May 10 th, 2014_ **

**_Camp Peary, VA_ **

 

Sharon grunted as she hit the ground hard, rolling to her feet and taking off running, her peers nipping at her heels as they raced through the grueling obstacle course.

Why was she enduring this special form of hell?

Simple answer: the CIA.

One would think that with her seven years as a SHIELD agent she wouldn’t be subjected to this crash course boot camp. However, the powers that be were not on her side and for the last week she had been put through the wringer from marksmanship to foreign weapons to evasive driving skills.

All the things she had learned at SHIELD Academy. All the things she was already skilled at.

Because that’s what she was, a _skilled_ agent.

But it seemed she was now at the bottom of the pecking order and her years at SHIELD seemed to hold no sway in the eyes of her superiors. She was now just another recruit in a sea of fresh-faced candidates. She had truly kissed Level 7 goodbye.

So, here she was, in the hot, spring sun, air already thick with the impending summer humidity hustling her ass off to prove something. (To who? Her superiors? To what had once been SHIELD? Herself? She didn’t know anymore.) Her CIA shirt was drenched with sweat and dirt and grime was sticking to her skin from her army crawl under chicken wire at the beginning of the course.

“Move your feet!” the course instructor barked as she sprinted past, near the head of the pack. She quickly scaled a 10ft wooden wall, catapulting herself over the other side and landing hard on her feet.

The next part of the course involved full-body hurtling over log beams, using all her weight to toss herself over them, one after the other. She was panting by the end of it as she jogged to metal bars. She jumped up, her arms straining as she pulled herself up and flipped over, swinging back down to the ground.

The moment she was back on her feet she was darting to the final portion of the long and hard-fought course: the rope climb. With a weary sigh, she grabbed onto the robe and climbed. She reached the top soon enough as a whistle sounded, signaling that she was finished and her time had been cataloged. She shimmied down as an instructor passed her with an impressed head nod.

“Not too shabby, Carter.”

Sharon collapsed on the ground in exhausted triumphant. She stared up at the bluer than blue sky.

“Awesome,” she muttered to herself with closed eyes. “Just awesome.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hours later found her freed from her week-long stay at Camp Peary. The moment she had gotten off the bus, she had hopped into her Stingray and gunned it home. Upon stumbling through her front door she toppled face first onto her comfy couch.

She was stretched out, her bones crying out for rest. She was pretty gross, dried sweat and dirt still clinging to her, but the last thing she wanted to do was get up and shower.

Maybe in a minute…

Time slipped away from her as she fell into a dreamless daze where minutes tick by in the blink of an eye. So it was a complete and utter surprise to her when a sharp knock sounded from her door.

“Wha’?” she sleepily exclaimed, jerking awake as her head snapped up, neck cracking in the process. She stared around blinkingly as the knock came again.

With only some tortured groaning on her part, she rolled herself off the couch and dragged her feet as she shuffled towards the door. She carelessly flung it open because really, if anyone wanted to kill her, they were more than welcome to, because death would be infinitely times better than the bone-deep fatigue she was currently feeling.

What she got was something else entirely.

“Bri!” she joyfully exclaimed with wide eyes and a brilliant grin as her willowy, curly-haired protégé stood before her, looking alive and healthy.

“Hey, boss,” Bri responded and only just had a second to open her arms before Sharon was barreling into them, wrapping herself around the younger woman like an octopus. Her arms were tight around Bri’s neck as she smashed her face into her bony shoulder. Bri’s laughter was breathless as Sharon’s sneak attack sent her stumbling back several feet, nearly taking both down.

Bri was quick to wind her arms around Sharon’s waist, embracing back fiercely. She used her extra three inches to her advantage and leaned back, hoisting Sharon up so her toes skimmed the wooden floors.

Sharon protested with a squawk as Bri set her down with a patronizing grin. She had always loved lording her extra height over the blonde.

The two remained in the open doorway hugging as Sharon snuggled in. One of her biggest fears throughout the whole Hydra/SHIELD debacle had been Bri’s safety. Sharon had spent a year molding her into the best possible spy and when the shit had hit the fan, Sharon had wanted Bri to be as far away from it as possible.

Since the fallout the two hadn’t spoken much, just texting in passing. Sharon had been too caught up in her own personal crusades and now with the CIA, she could hardly see straight. So it was good – beyond good – to see Bri in front of her, making sure with her own eyes that her former charge was whole and in one piece.

The truth of the matter was, Sharon thought of Bri as her little sister.

The way Bri was squeezing her tightly as if to make sure she hadn’t been damaged from the fall of the Triskelion told Sharon that the sisterly feelings were mutual.

So, everything in Sharon’s life was good for the moment.

Bri’s nose scrunched up as she sniffed Sharon before pulling away with a disgusted look on her face as she looked Sharon over with a critical look.

“You smell,” she complained as Sharon weakly chuckled, nodding bobbing in agreement.

“Sorry,” she halfheartedly apologized as she stepped back. “Just got back from training.”

Bri raised an eyebrow as she scooped up her duffle bag and nodded into the apartment. “You gonna let me in and tell me what’s goin’ on?”

Sharon sidestepped as Bri gracefully slinked into the apartment, making herself at home. She gingerly set the bag down, unzipping it and sorting through it before pulling out several plastic containers filled with her infamous home cooking.

Sharon’s mouth began salivating at the sight of it. She could almost smell the gumbo from where she stood. Being from Louisiana meant that Bri was an expert on all thing southern cooking and soul food. Throughout their year partnership, the recruit had been dismayed by Sharon’s lack of knowledge when it came to food from the south, which meant that there had been much cooking in order for the blonde to see what she had been missing all her life.

“Did you bring me jambalaya?” Sharon asked dreamily, licking her lips at the thought of some sinfully delicious food. It’d be heaven to eat, and then a beautiful pillow when she undoubtedly falls face first into it due to her extreme tiredness.

Bri only hummed in response as she swept into Sharon’s kitchen with her long, twirling limbs; her long years of ballet still evident in her movements.

“And even a side serving of shrimp creole. And if you’re good, I’ll give you the beignets I’ve got hoarded in my bag.”

It took everything inside of Sharon not to moan obscenely. God, she had great friends. Bri came to a halt at the fridge, opening it up and staring blankly at the rows of leftovers already taking up space. She shot a glance to Sharon over her shoulder and the blonde could only helplessly shrug in return.

With a judgmental _hmm_ Bri pulled out one of the Tupperware sets and held it up to peer inside with her brows furrowed quizzically.

“I see Mama Carter’s been here,” she astutely reasoned as Sharon leaned back against the counter, nodding.

“My near-death experience at the Trisk brought on a bought of stress cooking. As you can tell, I’m reaping the benefits.”

“What’s even in here?” Bri inquired curiously, not being able to make anything out other than mush.

Sharon sighed despondently as she replied, “Green bean casserole.”

Bri’s face cutely scrunched up in revulsion as she shook her head sympathetically.

“That’s just sad,” she murmured to herself as she placed the sad leftover back in before unloading her own creations as Sharon’s fridge became jam-packed with home cooked food. Sharon had never seen so much food in her fridge before, she was more of a takeout kind of girl. 

“Not that I’m not thrilled to see you,” Sharon began as she loosely crossed her arms over her chest. “But what are you doing here?”

“Someone had to make sure you were still kicking,” Bri volleyed back easily as she shut the fridge door shut, patting herself on the back along the way. “You don’t call, you don’t text, the last time we had spoken you basically implied you were going on a complete suicide mission, which, you know, you _did._ ”

Sharon huffed out a breath as her eyes rolled up to the ceiling. “It wasn’t _that_ bad.”

“Three helicarriers came flying out of the sky!” Bri screeches, throwing her hands up. “We worked for a secret Nazi cult without ever knowing it. I’m allowed to be concerned, boss.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sharon shrugged, biting down the rampant smile that wanted to break free. With a tilt of her head, she was directing the pair into the living room where they sagged onto the couch. Sharon’s feet automatically went up onto her coffee table as she sank back, bones cracking along the way as her spine realigned.

“Where have you been this entire time?” Sharon inquired as she leaned her head back. “Surely not in Cairo.”

Bri shook her head so hard her wild curls slapped her cheeks as she responded. “Nah, Kate and I blew that popsicle stand real quick. We crisscrossed through Europe, worried Hydra would send tails or some shit like that. We burned through all our aliases. We wanted to make sure the coast was clear before we returned to the States.”

Sharon nodded approvingly at her protégé’s sharp thinking. That was the kind of thing Sharon would have done in her shoes. She was glad Bri had the foresight to stay alive through this whole mess.

“When did you return to the States?”

“Last week,” Bri easily answered as she made herself at home. “Kate rendezvoused somewhere with Barton, I’ve been back home. My mama hasn’t wanted to let me out of her sight.”

Sharon snorted as she feebly kicked out her legs. “I know how you feel. My mom wants me to text her my location at odd points during the day. She doesn’t seem to realize how impossible that can be when most of my locations are classified.”

“Yeah,” Bri interjected with narrowed eyes. “I noticed the t-shirt. CIA, really?”

Sharon only raised her shoulder in a hapless kind of half-shrug. “I have to do something with my life. I figured the CIA was as good a place as any other.”

“You really think it’s a good idea?” Bri pondered, her gaze watching Sharon attentively. “Jumping right back in? It’s only been a month.”

“As opposed to when?” Sharon countered, close to bristling. “Six months? A year? Never? I’m a spy, Bri, this is what I do. When everything goes belly-up, you move on, simple as that.”

Bri closed her eyes as she calmly spoke. “Yeah, I get that. I’m not saying do nothing, Sharon. But no one would blame you if you needed some time after the shit-show that was SHIELD. You more than anyone else.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sharon snapped, hands curled into fists, the skin of her knuckles turning white.

“You know what it means.”

“Why?” Sharon retorted. “Because of Peggy?”

Whatever fight might have been brewing beneath Sharon’s skin completely deflated at the mention of Peggy. She flopped back onto the couch, exhaling deeply. She had been avoiding thinking of Peggy for weeks and now it was out in the open, stifling everything around them.

Bri’s gaze was sympathetic as she tucked her legs under her. “Have you been to see her?”

Sharon weakly shook her head, her eyes glazing over with deep-rooted weariness.

“With the fallout of SHIELD and the new job…there just hasn’t been time.”

It was an excuse. Sharon knew it, Bri knew it too but was too nice to call her out on it (unlike her mother).

But how could Sharon go see Peggy after everything that happened? How could she look her aunt in the eye after she helped destroy SHIELD? How could she tell her that Hydra had polluted her once beautiful dream?

“And with her memory…” Sharon forcibly swallowed the lump forming in her throat as she stared purposelessly ahead. “More and more, she’s not here in the present anymore. She slips away to the past…she comes back, but it’s taking longer and longer. I don’t know if I can take the day when she finally stays there forever.”

“Sharon-"

“Don’t, Bri,” Sharon quietly pleaded. “Just don’t.”

A long moment passed before Bri nodded her head. “Okay, Sharon. I won’t push.”

Sharon was too tired to feel relief but she did allow a faint glimmer of a smile to cross her face as she eyed Bri speculatively.

“Enough of my pity party, what are you going to do now?”

Bri’s eyes flashed before she casually shrugged, without a worry in the world.

“I’m waiting.”

Sharon’s brows arched up questioningly. “Waiting for what?”

A slow grin curled up Bri’s face. “For the world to make sense again.”

A laugh rumbled out of Sharon before she could hold it in. After a moment Bri joined in as they two chuckled.

Sharon eventually shook her head as the laughter faded away, the moment turning melancholy.

“Yeah, me too, Bri. Me too.”

 

* * *

 

 

**_May 17 th, 2014_ **

**_Arlington, VA_ **

****

“You can do this, Sharon,” the blonde muttered to herself as she paced ceaselessly back and forth outside the door to Peggy’s room. It had been more than 20 minutes since she had arrived on the premises of Peggy’s care center, but for the life of her, she couldn’t make herself walk through that door.

God, she was once an agent of SHIELD, she should be able to face down her great-aunt. Even if her great-aunt was the founding director of SHIELD and that very same SHIELD had turned out to be Hydra.

Why was this so hard? Peggy was her favorite person in the world, speaking with her was as easy as breathing. But ever since the Hydra revelation, Sharon felt sick at the thought of seeing her aunt, being forced to explain how Hydra had ruined the agency she had built from the ground up.

Cowardly? Maybe. But she never claimed to be as brave as Captain America.

As she pivoted on her heel, she was smacking her thighs as a way to motivate her to get her head out of her ass and visit the woman who had been her role model her entire life.

“C’mon, Carter,” she hissed to herself. “Grow some damn balls.”

And with that inspiring piece of advice, Sharon forced her feet to walk in through the open doorway. Her eyes were immediately drawn to Peggy, who, as usual, was seated in her bed, quilt thrown over her lap as she leaned back against a mound of pillows.

Her aunt’s eyes were trained outside, critically taking in the scene of a badminton tournament that was occurring out on the lawn.  

Sharon helplessly opened her mouth but was beat to the punch as Peggy interrupted her, never once taking her eyes off the window.

“I was wondering how long you would continue pacing outside, dearest.”

Sharon blanched as she looked down, shamefaced. “Noticed, did you?”

Peggy turned to her with an inscrutable expression as Sharon’s heart flip-flopped. She reluctantly ventured further into the room, seating herself at Peggy’s bedside.

“I was once a brilliant spy,” Peggy stated matter-of-factly, a twinkle in her dark eyes. “It comes with the territory.”

Sharon felt herself minutely relaxing as she ran a hand through her wavy hair. “I should have known I could never pull a fast one over you.”

A smug smirk appeared on Peggy’s face. “Better spies have tried and failed.”

Sharon gave a wobbly smile before looking down at her hands, twiddling with her fingers and cracking knuckles as a way to buy her some time. She heard rather than saw Peggy sigh as her aunt exclaimed,

“Come here and let me look at you.”

Sharon didn’t need to be told twice as she hopped up onto the bed and all but threw herself into Peggy’s frail arms. Peggy may not have been as strong as she was once, but she took Sharon’s weight easily as she wound her arms around her niece, gently rubbing her back as Sharon broke out into tears.

“Oh, dearest,” she murmured mournfully as Sharon fell apart in her arms, head buried into Peggy’s shoulder.

“I’m…s-so sorry,” she sobbed out as she felt Peggy’s aged hands begin winding themselves through her hair.

“It’s not your fault, Sharon,” Peggy told her softly, but Sharon was beyond reason as she shook her head and pulled away from her aunt’s comforting embrace. She was a sniffling mess as she stubbornly rubbed at her teary eyes.

“I should have known, Aunt Peggy! I should have, felt it, or something.”

“That’s preposterous, dearest.”

“No, it’s not!” Sharon hotly protested as another sob wracked through her worn out body.

Peggy sighed deeply. “Sharon, look at me.” She placed her hand under Sharon’s chin and forced the blonde to meet her unfaltering gaze.

“Sharon, do you blame me?”

Sharon’s eyes widened as she quickly shook her head. The last thing she would ever do was blame Peggy. Peggy was entirely blameless in this situation. It was everyone else who should have known better.

“Why not?” Peggy inquired pragmatically. “I founded SHIELD, I allowed Howard to talk me into bringing Zola into the fold, even when I was uncomfortable with it. Should I not carry some of the blame then for allowing the enemy in, like a glorified Trojan horse?”

Sharon forced herself to breathe, “Aunt Peggy-"

“No,” Peggy adamantly shook her head. “You cannot blame yourself for SHIELD. I won’t let you. What happened, happened. There’s no going back.”

Tears continued to fall freely from Sharon’s eyes, weighing down her eyelashes as she looked to her aunt.

“Then why does it hurt so much?” she choked out as Peggy’s gaze softened.

“Because you loved it, dearest. I loved it too.”

“Will it stop?” Sharon asked because the ache in her heart since the confrontation with Zola had not gone away. Some days she was worried it was only growing more and more, leaving nothing but a gaping hole in her chest that kept leaking out blood.

Peggy reached out, her aged hands cupping Sharon’s cheeks as she looked into her niece’s tear-stained eyes.

“I do not know, Sharon,” she painfully admitted. “I hope it will, one day. Until then, you just have to keep moving forward. You’re a Carter, that’s what we do.”

Sharon nodded, her cries finally subsiding. It was comforting to be in Peggy’s presence. The guilt she had been carrying for so many weeks was temporarily abated, giving her a brief respite and some peace of mind. She moved her arm, wincing as it twisted.

Peggy eyes her sharply as she began surveying her. “What’s the matter? Are you hurt?”

Sharon only shrugged as she pulled up the sleeve of her shirt. “Just this scar Rumlow so kindly gave me. It hurts like a bitch.”

She showed Peggy the jagged scar working its way up her forearm. The stitches had been removed days ago, leaving a thick, pink scar that was rising above the rest of her smooth skin. It still tinged from time to time, a physical reminder of the fall of the Trisk.

Peggy’s lips thinned as she overlooked the wound. “Please tell me the prick got what was coming for him.”

Sharon’s lip quirked up in a small smile. “Well, a building fell on him, more than half of his body is covered in third-degree burns and he’s in a seemingly permanent coma. So, yeah, I think he got his comeuppance.”

Peggy nodded, satisfied, as she leaned back. “Good,” she remarked crisply as she folded her arms. “I never was a fan of Rumlow. He was one of Pierce’s recruits, nothing more than a mercenary thug.”

“Nothing more than a Hydra thug, you mean,” Sharon interjected as she made herself comfortable atop Peggy’s bed. “I wouldn’t worry about Rumlow. He won’t be a problem moving forward.”

The two settled into an easy silence before Peggy asked, “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble…”

“You want me to tell you about how it all went down, right?” Sharon correctly guessed. Peggy only seemed a little contrite as she nodded.

“I’ve seen the news reports, but you know how the game goes. Most of its pish-posh, with all the good bits being classified.”

“And you want the good stuff, huh?”

“If you wouldn’t mind giving into an old woman’s whims, dearest.”

Sharon’s gaze was gentle as she reached for Peggy’s hand and squeezed.

“I always have time for you, Aunt Peggy. Okay, the beginning? Well, it started with a ship, the _Lemurian Star…”_

* * *

 

 

**_May 22 nd, 2014_ **

**_Langley, VA_ **

****

This was it. Today was the day.

It was her first day as a CIA agent.

She felt a slight fluttering of nerves roaming throughout her body as she stood outside the famed CIA headquarters at Langley. It was an odd sensation, standing outside the main doors, looking up to the imposing structure of American intelligence and security.

She had never imagined her life going this way.

She honestly thought she’d be a SHIELD agent until the day she died. She had never wanted to be anything more, but here she was, no longer Agent 13 but rather Agent Carter.

There was no more SHIELD, Steve, Natasha, Fury, Maria…

She was completely starting over.

And she needed to make a great first impression.

The entire world was viewing SHIELD and its former agents with nothing but suspicion and scorn. She had to prove she was more than the tainted spy agency.

She could do this. She used to wrangle in Captain America on a daily basis. This should be a walk in the park in comparison to the unstoppable hurricane that was Steve Rogers.

Then why was she so goddamned nervous?

“Hey, cuz,” Greer airily greeted as she walked past, arm and arm with her girlfriend, Antonia. Sharon bobbed her head in acknowledgment. Greer was typical Greer, looking immaculately put together without appearing as if she tried too hard with her artistically tousled hair and worn leather jacket with blue aviators hiding her eyes. Antonia flashed her a kindhearted smile.

“Nervous?” she politely asked. Even though the two had been dating for quite some time, Sharon still didn’t know too much about Antonia. She was a nice girl, secretly a badass, and could temper Greer’s more base urges rather easily.

Honestly, Sharon never thought she would see this side of Greer. When she was with Antonia, she was so _domestic._ Definitely not the same girl who had thrilled when she had successfully hooked up with both the football team and the cheerleading squad during high school. Greer had always been a wild child and a troublemaker with a capital T, but Antonia calmed her down, reigned her in.

It was quite a sight to see.

“Only a little,” Sharon answered shrilly as she wiped her sweaty palms against her dark trousers. She fiddled with the buttons of her blazer as her amber eyes once more darted towards the VIA headquarters.

Greer noisily huffed as she turned to her girlfriend. “Why don’t you head on in? I need a moment with Sharon.”

Antonia easily nodded and Greer gently smiled as she leaned in, softly pecking her girlfriend on the lips once, twice, and then three times before releasing her. She watched Antonia go, her eyes trained to the way her girlfriend’s hips were swaying as she scurried into the building.

“Damn,” she swore as she licked her red lips. “I am a lucky woman.”

Sharon only rolled her eyes as she sarcastically quipped, “I’m glad you could make _our_ moment about you; really, it warms my soul.”

Greer only gave her a sassy look as she knocked her shoulder into Sharon’s. “Calm down before you break out into hives. You’re a hot mess and it’s embarrassing to watch.”

Sharon only glowered as she began fanning her face. God, why was she so nervous? She had faced death numerous times and had come out the other side with nothing more than a scratch. She was a phenomenal spy, this should be so easy.

But ever since the fall of SHIELD, her life had been tilting off course and she so desperately wanted to be standing on even ground again.

And this had to be the way to achieve that, right? Moving on, moving up, this would fix everything, right?

The nightmares, the panic attacks, the gnawing guilt…they’d go away, right?

“Here,” Greer unceremoniously shoved something small into her hand. “Drink this.”

Sharon blinkingly looked down before scowling. “A flask? Really?”

Greer held up her hands defensively. “You need it way more than I do. C’mon, one sip, for the nerves.”

Since Greer was a masterful manipulator, it didn’t take much for Sharon to throw her head back and take a plentiful sip of whatever was inside.

She grimaced immediately as it burned all the way down, she lowered the flask, hitting her chest as she coughed painfully.

“What the hell was in that?” she demanded to know as Greer took the flask back with a smug grin.

“Nothing that will kill you…at least, I don’t think so.”

Before Sharon could open her mouth, Greer was already waving her off. She tugged on Sharon’s arm, leading her fellow blonde to the front doors.

“Alright, enough wallowing. Time for work.”

The two quickly moved through security as Greer led Sharon to her new home away from home. They came to a stop in a great office bullpen with agents coming this way and that. It was a modern, industrial space with chromatic hues of grey. It felt very polished but impersonal, not unlike the Trisk, but not as state of the art.

“You know your SO yet?” Greer asked as she dropped her bag down at her desk, tossing off her leather jacket.

Sharon only shrugged. “I think his name is Bridge or something like that.”

Greer broke out into unrepentant laughter as Sharon warily eyed her cousin. “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” Greer got out through giggles. “It’s just-"

“CARTER!” an authoritative voice boomed across the cavernous space of the bullpen. All activity ceased as Sharon turned to find an older man standing at the far end of the office in front of glass-encased office.

He impatiently gestured to his door before he marched in.

“I’m guessing that’s Bridge,” Sharon astutely observed as Greer nodded.

“Yep,” she popped the ‘p.’ “Word of advice: stay on his good side.”

“Why?”

“He applied to SHIELD, didn’t get in, he’s been sour ever since.”

“Wonderful,” Sharon deadpanned as she began making her way towards the office.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Greer called out encouragingly. “Just be your normal, charming self. Maybe you’ll win him over.”

The only response that seemed appropriate was Sharon flipping her the bird, so that’s what she did before she ducked into the office.

“Sir, I’m-"

“Sit,” he barked and not in the same gruffly affectionate way that Stanford always had. So with a gulp, Sharon did as she was told, settling her hands into her lap. She looked up and couldn’t help but quickly catalog her surroundings and the man sitting before her.

He was older, grey working its way through his tawny hair. A pinched look seemed to be his default setting as crow’s feet and frown lips aged his strong face. It was clear he was a man who had seen many things in his long tenure with the CIA. His eyes were a steely blue and there was no warmth in them as he gazed at her.

So much for a good first impression.

“Sir,” Sharon valiantly tried again, “I’m-"

“I know who you are, agent,” he interrupted her. “The question is: do you know who I am?”

A tense silence passed over them as Sharon was forced to shake her head in the negative. That was all the ammo that her SO needed before continuing on in a no-nonsense manner.

“I am G.W. Bridge, your superior officer moving forward. You want to make a name for yourself here? You go through me first. You understand?”

Sharon nodded her head for the sake of nodding, not that it made much of a difference to Bridge.

“Now, I’ve gone through your records. It’s clear you know your stuff.”

Sharon perked up a bit but the dark look he flashed her proved that that had been a critical mistake.

“For now, you’ll make a doable addition to our analysis team.”

Sharon bit back down the disappointment and confusion swirling through her.

“Sir, I’m a field agent.”

Bridge nodded at the statement. “Yes, you are. And from your record, I can tell that you are an optimal field agent. But we walk before we run here. You may be a skilled field agent, but I don’t know you, and frankly, with your former agency having been exposed as a terrorist organization, I don’t _trust_ you. Maybe in time that will change, I hope it does, but until then, if you think I’m letting you out into the field, then you’re living a pipe dream, agent. You’d best start smoking something else.”

Sharon leaned back into her chair. What was she if not a field agent? That’s where she felt most alive. It’s what she was good at. And he wanted her to be an analyst? To sit hunched over a desk every day, crunching numbers and codes. It went against everything in her nature. She was meant to be out there, fighting the good fight.

“Do we have any problems, _Agent_?” Bridge asked with flashing eyes. Sharon bit down on her tongue before shaking her head stiffly.

“Excellent, follow me.” He stood, buttoning his suit jacket along the way as he led her out his office and back into the bullpen. He brought her to a desk nearly overflowing with files and paperwork.

It looked even worse than her apartment had when she had been searching out her missions to see if she had run any for Hydra.

“This is your first assignment.” Bridge patted the filed patronizingly. “Hope you’re fluent in Pashto.”

He left Sharon standing there, gazing down at the work that would days to complete. He hadn’t even taken five steps before he was turning to her with a mocking grin.

“I forgot to say, welcome to the CIA.”

When he was gone, Sharon slipped into the chair, surrounded by the near toppling folders.

For a first day, it was truly turning into a bust.

But she was nothing if not tenaciously determined. So with a steadying breath, she reached for the nearest file and began reading.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I have been dawdling on writing this chapter, since motivation has been hard to find. Mainly because this is more of a filler/exposition chapter that sets up the groundwork for things to come. Hopefully things get rolling again in the next chapter or two. 
> 
> Poor Sharon, she doesn't yet realize how much of a problem Rumlow will prove to be in the future. But for now, he's comatose and out of the picture. 
> 
> Thank you for the previous reviews/comments. I live for them, please keep them up, they really are good motivating factors. I feel really blessed to have such a good crew as you guys keeping up with the story and giving me your input. You are all rockstars! 
> 
> And not to self-plug, but I did write a Winterpanther/Staron fic recently called 'I Dig You the Most.' For anyone who actually wants to see my version of a coupled up Staron instead of the glacial slowburn I have been subjecting you to, check it out! They're really cute in it, if I do say so myself :) 
> 
> Pic time! 
> 
> Antonia Serrano:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/25768587187/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> G.W. Bridge:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/25768587067/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> CIA Bullpen:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/39929273094/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Sharon visiting Peggy:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/39743597185/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Sharon at the CIA:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/39743597235/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Greer at the CIA:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/39743597345/in/dateposted-public/)


	14. Put on Your Face, Know Your Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He killed JFK?” she squeaked out disbelievingly, “That’s not going to garner any public sympathy.”
> 
> “They think he might have taken out Bobby as well.” Izzy unhelpfully supplied, looking like a kid at the candy store as he gleefully rubbed his hands together. “What a time to be alive. Every conspiracy theory is called into question now. What’s next, Area 51?”
> 
> Sharon stared at Izzy with incredulous eyes. “I really doubt the Winter Soldier had anything to do with Area 51, Iz.”

**_June 1 st, 2014_ **

**_Washington, D.C._ **

****

_Crunch-crunch-crunch._

Sharon’s pace was steady as she ran alongside the Reflecting Pool. The memorial was a brilliant sight in the early morning light. Behind her, to the east, the sun was cresting above the nation’s capital, bathing the city in mesmerizing hues of coral and lavender.

Sharon was one of many dedicated joggers taking in the breathtaking sights so early in the morning. It wasn't even 6am and she had already been out running for an hour. Her mind may be stagnating every day at Langley as she battled her way through report after report under Bridge’s sadistic supervision. She refused to allow her body to languish as well. One day Bridge would be forced to put her in the field. She was not a pencil pusher, she was a field agent, a damn fine field agent, and she’d prove it to him.

So she was making sure her body was ready for her day of reckoning.

Every morning involved an intensive work out of some sort. Cardio was always a go-to option. Other days involved anything from Pilates to boxing to weight lifting. She needed to stay fresh and nimble, be in tip-top shape.

Besides, the working out was good. If she pushed herself hard enough in the mornings and then went through the slog of a monotonous workday, she could go home and fall into an easy, dreamless sleep. No nightmares, no memories from long ago missions, no time for regrets or ‘what ifs.’ Sure, the sleep wasn’t particularly restful, but it was a solid six to seven hours. At this point in her life, she would take what she could get without complaining.

So here she was, running like the devil was nipping at her heels.

Her feet pounded over the pavement as her ponytail swished behind her. Sweat stained her clothes, clinging to her skin. It was only dawn but the impending humidity of the day was already pressing down against her.

The entire city would feel like a swamp come noon. 

She continued sprinting forward, ignoring the slight twinge at her side as she pushed herself faster and harder. Ahead of her, the Lincoln Memorial was rising up, a marble beacon of serenity and peace. She followed the path, curving around the monument as the silhouette of the president watched her from inside his hallowed halls.

She didn’t stop even as she came upon the Watergate Steps at the banks of the Potomac, the Arlington Memorial Bridge stretching out before her.

Forty steps. A circuit up and down was 80.

She counted each and every one in her head as she rushed down the steps only to pivot on her heel at the bottom and race back up the concrete stairs. She could feel her heart pounding against her ribcage as she repeated two more times.

Sweat was dripping off her face as she came to a stop at the bottom of the steps, her breath ragged and hoarse as she fought for equilibrium. Her body felt dizzy at the sudden stop and to keep everything running smoothly, she began stretching out her aching muscles.

She was in the midst of stretching out her arms, cracking her neck resoundingly in the process, when her gaze was involuntarily drawn to Roosevelt Island.

Where the Triskelion had once proudly stood.

It was nothing more than ruins now.

Cleanup crews had been quick in demolishing the face of SHIELD. The river had been dredged of the Insight Helicarriers and what had remained of the Trisk had been demolished and carted away.

Now the island was nothing more than sparse woodlands, the space the Trisk once occupied now glaringly empty and devoid of life. It was like SHIELD had never been there in the first place. That Peggy’s hard work had never mattered. That everything Sharon had once been was now just gone, in a blink of an eye.

The world had moved on. Steve, Natasha, and the others along with it.

But Sharon was still here. She had stayed.

Why? Because she was a glutton for punishment? Because she thought she could make up for her mistakes with the CIA? Because she had nowhere else to go?

She didn’t really know anymore.

She was pulled from her spiraling, morose thoughts when her watch beeped in warning. She checked the time and swore under her breath.

If she was quick she could lap one more time to the Washington Monument before calling it a day. She needed to get back to her apartment, shower and prepare for another mind-numbing day on desk duty.

Alright, she could do this.

This was her new normal, after all.

She tightened her ponytail determinedly before racing up the Watergate Steps, leaving the ghosts of SHIELD behind her.

 

* * *

 

 

**_June 6 th, 2014_ **

**_Langley, VA_ **

****

Sharon, as always, was surrounded by files of overflowing papers, all waiting for her analytical brilliance.

Unfortunately for her, her brain was refusing to wake up.

She had slept poorly the night before, and therefore, as recompense, had forced her body past its breaking point on her morning workout. That had been an amateur mistake. Not even three cups of coffee had been enough to kick her brain into overdrive.

So here she was, face down, and lost in the gap between sleep and consciousness as her eyes fluttered shut, her breaths evening out.

She should have known the calm wouldn’t last.

She was forcibly knocked back into a waking state when something bodily collided into her desk. Her head snapped up, eyes rapidly blinking open as her hand went to her waistband, wrapping around her firearm out of habit.

“Shit!” a voice pitifully moaned from around Sharon’s desk. Her brows furrowed as she raised up in her seat, peering over the side of her divider to see a sorry soul moping at the coffee stains on his trousers.

His mug, a standard navy blue mug with the CIA logo stamped across it, was laying on the floor, coffee steadily spilling out of it.

“Great going, Cohen,” the man muttered darkly to himself, completely unaware of Sharon’s presence. “You a real 10 out of 10 when it comes to coordination, aren’t ya?”

Now that Sharon realized the threat she had perceived was completely imaginary, she relaxed her grip on her pistol and observed the hunched form of the man idly. He was lanky, all long, gawky limbs as he cleaned up his mess. Atop his head was a mop of bushy, unruly brown hair that not even a thorough brushing could fix. His eyes were obscured by a pair of round, thick-rimmed glasses.

Sharon watched as he finally cleaned up most of the spilled coffee before standing, still mumbling to himself all the while. He turned and froze as they made eye contact. The man’s face went through a myriad of expressions before settling on quietly resigned as he nodded down to the carpet stain.

“You saw that, didn’t you?”

Sharon bit her lip to stop the smile spreading across her face as she nodded once. “I’m afraid so.”

“Ah,” the man shook his head, eyes rolling towards the ceiling in despair. “Not my finest moment, I’m afraid. Did you hear all my half-raved ramblings?”

Sharon only easily shrugged. “Only the part where you cursed your great-great-great grandfather’s clumsiness and how it’s been a blight upon your family’s honor ever since.”

“Yes, well, if it hadn’t been for ol’ Ezekiel’s two left feet the family fortune wouldn’t have gone up in flames, literally, gone up in flames, and I’d be sitting on the sands of Barbados drinking Mai Tai’s with the little umbrella on the side.”

Sharon processed this before leisurely commenting, “I’m more of a Piña Colada kind of girl, myself.”

The nameless man pursed his lips as he contemplated this before agreeably bobbing his head. “Not bad, not bad at all.”

The man bobbed his head again as his fidgeted in place, clearly not knowing whether to stay or how to find a graceful way to leave. An awkward silence descended before Sharon cleared her throat and remarked,

“So, do I get to know the name of such a cursed soul, or should I just give you one in my head? Fair warning, you look like a Barnaby to me.”

The man’s eyes widened as he stuttered out an answer.

“A-Ah, yes, my name! Of course, my name. Why wouldn’t I tell you that?”

“Why indeed? Unless it’s Rumpelstiltskin,” Sharon jokingly mused as she batted her eyes. The truth of the matter was this was the most compelling conversation she had had since arriving at Langley. The guy in front of her was weird, to be sure, but the good kind of weird. She could work with this.

The man chuckled, wagging a finger at her. “Jokes, you’ve got jokes. I admire that in my coworkers.”

“Fantastic,” Sharon drolly volleyed back. “So…name?”

The man reached up to run a hand through his ornery hair before finally answering the question. “Isadore Cohen, at your service.”

Without thinking he reached across her desk to shake her hand before realizing the proffered limb was the one clutching his empty coffee cup. He cursed again as he debated swapping it to the free one or shaking with his left. After several half attempts, he finally moved the mug to his left hand and offered up his right. Sharon shook it strongly in return before releasing his palm.

“Isadore?” she questioned with a wrinkle of her nose. “That’s quite a name.”

Isadore only shrugged in return. “Yeah, my mom’s idea. It means ‘strong gift’ and she thought that’d be prophetic or something. And if the Cohen family rumors are to be believed, which my money is on yes, then she named me for Isidor Straus.”

Sharon stared blankly at him, her brain not making any notable connections. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but it wasn’t ringing any bells.

“You know, Isidor Straus?” Isadore offered up before launching into a tried and true explanation that he must have recited hundreds of times before. “The owner of Macy’s? He died on the _Titanic’s_ ill-fated, maiden voyage. He’s been forever immortalized as half of that old couple clutching each other on the bed while the water’s rushing in.”

Sharon could only blink as she let that information settle in.

“Oh. That’s…cool.”

Izzy was quick to shake his head. “Yeah, no, it’s really not. She could never have foreseen the extreme mocking I received once Titanic Mania set in. God, the 90s were rough.”

She couldn’t relate, she had rather enjoyed the 90s if she was being honest. Truthfully, she was a bit flummoxed but was willing to just go with it. “Huh.”

“Yeah, so moral of the story, call me Izzy. Isadore is just way too much.”

“Okay,” Sharon said. “It’s nice to meet you, Izzy. I’m Sharon Carter.”

Izzy snorted loudly. “Oh, I know who you are.”

Sharon arched an eyebrow as a sliver of trepidation snuck in, creeping along her gut. “You do?”

“Oh yeah,” Izzy yammered on, completely unaware as he gestured around. “Everyone in the office does. You used to work for SHIELD. Which, you know, sorry about that. Working for Nazis? Must have sucked.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Sharon mumbled to herself, her fingers tapping against the top of her desk.

“I mean, I hate Nazis,” Izzy proclaimed with gesticulating arms. “I’m Jewish. Kinda have to hate Nazis on principle.”

“I can understand that,” Sharon tepidly agreed as she chewed on her lip. “I’m not Jewish, but I hate Nazis as well.”

Izzy laughed out loud, bright and carefree. “Well, that’s good to hear. We wouldn’t want any secret Hydra up in here.”

Sharon stared down at her desk. “Yeah, been there, done that, don’t want to do it again.”

Izzy, for his part, suddenly seemed to realize that he had metaphorically put his foot in it as his cheeks flushed and his eyes darted around the office, avoiding hers.

“Ah, well,” he feebly pointed to the coffee machine in the corner of the bullpen. “Coffee’s calling my name. Nice to meet you, Sharon.”

“You too, Izzy.”

He shuffled away, long limbs dragging. Sharon watched him go with furrowed brows. She maybe just made a new work friend? Maybe? It was hard to tell, the CIA was a weird place.

She huffed out a breath as she turned her attention back to the final mound of files surrounding her.

This was it. The final countdown. If she completed these she would have gone through all of the reports. Surely Bridge would have something for her then?

It took hours, but by early afternoon Sharon had completed everything Bridge had given to her weeks ago. She swooped up the files victoriously as she marched determinedly into Bridge’s office.

The older man was seated at his desk. His suit jacket had been thrown off and the sleeves of his crisp shirt were rolled up to his elbows. His tie was slightly skewed and his overall appearance was rumbled.

He looked how Sharon felt.

His blue eyes flashed as she knocked on her door. His face hardened as he nodded her in.

“Sir,” she greeted with breathless glee as she came to a stop at the edge of his chrome desk.

“Agent,” he acknowledged with much less enthusiasm as he eyed her and her files skeptically.

“Anything I can do for you?”

“I finished all the files,” Sharon brandished them with a grin as she gingerly set them down on the meticulous desk, cluttering it up immediately.

Bridge arched an eyebrow as his eyes traced over the completed reports. “All of them? Truly?”

“Yes,” Sharon bobbed her head. “I’ve gone through all viable counterintelligence threats, and I’ve red-flagged members of terrorist organizations such as JAT and TTP. I have also cataloged several counterterrorism efforts from outside forces. It’s all here.”

She gestured to her treasure trove on Intel that she had been slaving over for weeks.

Surely this would finally get her in Bridge’s good graces, get her back out in the field where she belonged.

“Hmm,” Bridge nonchalantly mused. “Impressive work, agent.”

Sharon internally felt like preening but kept her expression detached at the rare display of praise. Bridge was the type of man to pick up on it immediately and pounce on it, ready to knock her down a peg or two. The man took being a hard-ass to an entirely new level.

“Thank you, sir.”

Bridge looked from the files to her before raising an eyebrow. “Was there something you wanted, agent?”

Sharon momentarily floundered before deciding that it was better to just bite the bullet and see where it got her.

“Yes, sir, I was just hoping to find out my next assignment. Not that I didn’t enjoy this,” she hastily declared when Bridge’s face closed off, a frown appearing across his aged skin. “This was quite enjoyable, it gave my mind a workout, to be sure. However, I’m ready to take on something else, something new.”

Bridge leaned back in his seat as he pondered her statement. Sharon waited with bated breath for the verdict.

“Very well, Agent Carter. I think I have just the thing for you. Follow me.”

He stood and swept out of his glass office, Sharon eagerly lapping at his heels. She winked as she passed Greer’s desk, her cousin giving her a thumbs up in return. Bridge led her out of the bullpen and down the hall coming to a stop at what appeared to be nothing other than a storage closet.

He opened it, flicking on a slight as the two were bathed suddenly in a harsh, fluorescent glare. Sharon blinked rapidly as her eyes took in the dim setting.

It was a filing room that appeared to be in complete disarray. When was the last time someone had even been in here? If the musty smell wafting throughout the windowless room was anything to go by, it had been awhile.

“Sir?” she asked with a sense of dread.

“This room has seen better days, believe me,” Bridge began cheerfully as he turned to her. “Welcome to your next assignment.”

“I don’t,” she struggled for words as she peered around, “Understand.”

“Well, you’ve done such an outstanding job with your analysis work. Why mess with a good thing? You clearly have a talent for paperwork. A valuable skill. So, knock yourself out here.”

He patted her on the shoulder as her face dropped in dismay.

“Sir?” She really hoped he was joking. He did not look like it though.

“I want this room set straight, everything organized and cataloged. Hop to it, agent.”

And with that he left her there in the dungeon of a room, leaving her with only box after box of pure hell.

It was only when the door clicked shut that she allowed a muffled scream to emerge as she collapsed against a shelf of files, banging her head into a box repeatedly.

She let herself have a tantrum for five minutes before sighing and pulling herself together.

Bridge wanted to play this game? Fine, they would play.

And she would win.

Because that’s what she always did.

 

* * *

 

 

**_June 13 th, 2014 _ **

**_Langley, VA_ **

****

_“Achoo!”_

Sharon wasn’t winning. She was very much _not_ winning.

She sneezed again, sending dust flying throughout the enclosed space of the filing room. The only thing she had learned in her week exiled here was that she was vastly allergic to dust.

Awesome.

She was on her knees on the floor, files spread out all around her as she tried to make sense of them. Some of them were dated all the way back to the 60s and with so many redacted and missing pages, it was nearly impossible to tell any of them apart.

Bridge really had it out for her.

Really, what had she done to deserve this torture? Yes, she was at the bottom of the pecking order, yes her former employer had turned out to be Hydra, but was that her fault? She had helped dismantle the terrorist cult the moment she knew they were pulling the strings at SHIELD.

And what were the thanks she got? Paperwork. Mountains of paperwork. At this rate, she’d never make it back out into the field.

She sat up straight after being hunched over for what felt like hours. She groaned as her spine popped loudly and she was quick to whip her neck back and forth, cracking it as well. She pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the popping of her knees as she brushed dust off the pants of her legs.

She needed a break.

She meandered out of the file room and made her way back to the bullpen, ready to devour her lunch, as unappealing as Caesar salad and apple wedges sounded. Her stomach growled at the thought of food and she patted it soothingly as she walked into the bullpen.

Her senses were immediately pinging as she realized everyone’s attention was on the TV screens on the far wall, a crowd of agents packed together as a news report blared. Sharon watched the scene questioningly as she reluctantly ventured towards the scene, lunch would have to wait.

“What’s going on?” she asked aloud as she passed Izzy’s desk. The man was leaned back in his chair, legs kicked up on his desk as he watched the mob avidly. She followed his gaze and sound the print across the screen.

**WINTER SOLDIER IDENTITY REVEALED**

Sharon’s heart dropped.

“Oh no,” she whispered to herself.

Izzy, not seeing her panic, only nodded as he pointed to the TVs. “They found out the identity of the Winter Soldier. Can you believe it? It’s Bucky Barnes! Wild, huh?”

Sharon could only continue to stare at the screen with dread. Black and white photos of Barnes from the War flashed across the screen before the video clip from the Smithsonian of Steve and Barnes laughing together played silently. He looked so young, so unknowing of what fate had in store for him.

“Yeah,” she weakly agreed as she sat down on the corner of Izzy’s desk. “Wild.”

She knew this would happen, that it would eventually come out in the data dump Natasha had performed. But still…she wasn’t quite ready for the blowback of what this could mean for Barnes, who was somewhere out in the world. She didn’t know if Steve was prepared either.

She could only watch in numb as several of the Winter Soldier’s exploits were broadcast on network television.

“He killed JFK?” she squeaked out disbelievingly. “That’s not going to garner any public sympathy.”

“They think he might have taken out Bobby as well,” Izzy unhelpfully supplied, looking like a kid at the candy store as he gleefully rubbed his hands together. “What a time to be alive. Every conspiracy theory is called into question now. What’s next, Area 51?”

Sharon stared at Izzy with incredulous eyes. “I really doubt the Winter Soldier had anything to do with Area 51, Iz.”

“Yeah,” he countered back solemnly. “But do you _know?_ ”

She only rolled her eyes as she continued watching the broadcast, her fingers tapping nervously against her knee. Politicians and activists were already on the news circuit, calling for blood. The more that was revealed of Barnes’ sordid past as Hydra’s fist, the greater the outrage would grow. Never mind that he hadn’t done any of it willingly. It seemed no one cared for that morsel of truth.

This was…not good.

And worse, it made Barnes a target, a scapegoat for all of Hydra. Steve and Sam had been on the trail, but from what she had gleaned from their sporadic texts it didn’t seem they were any closer to finding the wayward assassin.

But now, now the entire world would be looking for him. Hell, he was already trending on Twitter.

Without thinking her hand slipped around her cellphone as she hopped off Izzy’s desk and wandered away from the flock of agents. She quickly found Steve’s contact and fired off a rapid text to the super-soldier.

**To Steve Rogers:**

_Cat’s out of the bag, Barnes has been made. You want to help him, you need to find him, fast._

She really shouldn’t have been surprised when her phone beeped back almost immediately. She didn’t know where Steve was in the world, what the time zone differences were, but for him to have his phone so close, meaning he already knew of Barnes’ identity exposure.

**From Steve Rogers:**

_What do you think I’m doing? Taking a vacation?_

Sharon couldn’t help but snort as she stared down at the message. Well, if Steve had time for being sassy, that meant things weren’t in complete dire straits yet. Her spine tingled with the feeling of being watched. She tensed and slowly raised her head, subtly scoping out the room.

From the glass shades of his office, Bridge was watching her, face unreadable.

She swallowed, pocketing her cellphone as she turned on her heel and walked out of the bullpen. It seemed best for everyone if she stayed there until this all went away.

She remained in the filing room for the remainder of the day, only leaving when she remembered that Bri had wrangled her into dinner, citing that she had some news to share with her former mentor.

Traffic, as always during rush hour in the DMV, was an absolute bitch and what should have been a 30-minute drive easily became more than an hour. Then parking was a nightmare outside the Salt Line, the restaurant Bri had picked out.

Sharon rushed through the front doors, still in her work clothes and her hair a mess as she spotted Bri vigilantly sitting at a booth alone.

Sharon hurried and all but threw herself in the seat across from her protégé. “I am so sorry!”

Bri only waved her off, “Nah, I really enjoyed sitting here, by myself, for an entire hour. It was fun.”

Sharon winced at Bri’s dry tone. “I know, I’m the worst.”

“That’s putting it kindly,” Bri remarked drolly.

“But work was…chaotic, to say the least.” Sharon was ready to plead her case and get on her knees to beg for Bri’s forgiveness. Luckily for her, Bri was the forgiving type. Her frown melted away as she smiled gently at her friend.

“Sharon,” she reached across the table, squeezing Sharon’s hand. “It’s okay. You’re a CIA operative. I would be more surprised if your job wasn’t chaotic. Although, aren’t you on desk duty?”

Sharon groaned as she sipped at the ice-cold water in front of her, suddenly feeling parched. “I am, but with the reveal of the Winter Soldier, the CIA is now on high alert. Everything’s considered a threat now.”

Bri’s eyes widened in understanding. “Yeah, it’s crazy, isn’t it? First Rogers comes back from the dead and now Bucky Barnes.”

“Yeah, that’s one word for it.”

Bri narrowed her eyes as she stared at Sharon from across the table. “You encountered the Winter Soldier, didn’t you?”

Sharon casually shrugged. “We had an encounter, yes.”

“On the highway, right? He was sent to kill you and Steve.”

“Yeah, Barnes was the one who shot me.” She gestured to her left shoulder where a gnarly scar now resided.

Bri blinked confusedly. “I thought Neal stabbed you.”

“Yeah, he did,” Sharon agreed with a bob of her head. _“After_ Barnes shot me. Anyway,” she breezily moved on. “Enough about that. I’m starving, let’s eat.”

She tugged the nearest menu towards her as she began scanning the options. “Do they have burgers here?”

“It’s a seafood restaurant,” Bri deadpanned.

Sharon looked at her. “So?”

Bri rolled her eyes heavenward, muttering to herself about what she must have done in a past life to be saddled with a white girl such as Sharon. Sharon, the mature adult in this relationship, only stuck out her tongue in response. Eventually, the two ordered food, Sharon settling on some high-end surf & turf.

They were halfway through their meal, having exhausted all possible small talk, before Sharon placed her utensils down, linking her fingers together as she regarded Bri evenly.

“So, not that I don’t enjoy being wined and dined, but I think you brought me here for a reason.”

Bri startled at having been caught, but it shouldn’t have been a surprise. She was the rookie here and Sharon had taught her everything she knew.

“That transparent, huh?”

Sharon only shrugged lightly. “Nah, I just know how to read you. So, what’s up, chum?”

Bri slid back into her booth as she tinkered with the cloth of her napkin. “You remember when I first visited you after the whole SHIELD debacle?”

Sharon nodded perfunctorily, it had occurred back when she had been completely unmoored, trying to keep her head above water in a sea of uncertainty. Things had changed since then, Sharon once again had some sense of purpose.

“You remember how I said I was waiting for the world to make sense again?”

Sharon once again bobbed her head in the affirmative. She hadn’t at the time had the heart to tell Bri that she didn’t think the world would ever make sense again. How could it after the fall of SHIELD? How could anything ever be normal? They could never be who they used to be. All they could do was move forward, find their place in this brave new world.

“Well,” Bri began, an excited smile curling up. “I think it makes enough sense now, I’ve decided what I’m doing next.”

Sharon gestured at her expectedly. “Well? Don’t leave me in suspense, let’s hear it.”

“I’m going to go and see the world.”

Silence.

“That’s it?” Sharon quizzically inquired. When Bri nodded all she could muster up was. “That sounds very millennial of you.”

Bri exasperatedly sighed. “You sound like my mama.”

Sharon laughed. “I’m sorry, Bri. But really, what did you expect?”

“I want to get out and explore, _really_ see the world.”

“What?” Sharon fired back. “Not enough jet-setting as a spy?”

“Oh, please.” Bri crossed her arms over her chest. “It was all business with SHIELD, sure I got to go places, but I never really _saw_ anything other than safe houses and marks and targets. That’s not living.”

Sharon sighed as she could easily see where Bri was coming from. Espionage seemed a glamorous job, but it really wasn’t at its core.

“I get that…” she lowly conceded. “But you have so much potential, only a tenth of which was realized at SHIELD. You could do anything, go anywhere. The CIA, FBI, and Homeland would scoop you up in an instance. Or you could go into the private sector.”

“Sharon,” Bri gently cut in. “I don’t want to stay in DC. It’s not my home.”

Sharon’s heart flip-flopped uncomfortably in her chest as she bit her lip. She only wanted the best for Bri, but she had been glad when the young woman had shown up on her doorstep because it meant she was here, where Sharon could keep an eye on her.

But now she was leaving, like all of the others. Everyone else was seeking out greener pastures and Sharon was still standing in place.

She was tired of everyone leaving her.

“And besides,” Bri continued gaily. “I won’t be alone, Kate’s coming with me.”

Sharon gracelessly snorted. “Oh, yeah, that’s really comforting. When you two are attached at the hip, terrible things have a way of happening.”

Bri only saucily winked as the atmosphere around the two became light and easy again. They finished dinner and both loitered outside the doors of the restaurant, DC twinkling around them as the humidity finally lessened for the night.

Sharon wrapped her arms around Bri, tightly squeezing. “I expect postcards,” she demanded as she pulled away.“You got it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good,” Sharon blinked rapidly, fighting away the moisture pooling at the corners of her eyes. “And I know I don’t have to say it, but I’m going to anyway because it’s my job. Stay safe, okay? For my sake.”

“I’ll try my best,” Bri promised, leaning in for one final hug. She disappeared then for some last minute packing. Sharon slid into her Stingray, letting it take her home. Her apartment was dark and empty when she walked through the front door. She kicked off her heels, flicking on lights as she made her way to her kitchen, pouring herself a generous glass of merlot.

She padded into her living room, plopping down on her couch, still in her stiff work clothes. She turned on the TV, absentmindedly searching through channels when her phone began ringing. She tugged it out of her pocket, eyes widening in interest when she saw who was calling her.

**Steve Rogers**

Sharon’s fingers traced over his name before she hit accept and brought the device up to her ear.

“Hello?”

 _“Sharon?”_ Steve’s voice crackled in her ear. _“Hey, it’s me, Steve.”_

“Yeah, I know,” she told him with a fond grin. “Caller ID, remember?”

_“Ah, right. That’s a thing, isn’t it?”_

Sharon let her head fall back as she made herself comfortable, curling her legs beneath her. “Where are you?”

 _“Tartu, Estonia,"_ he answered easily. _“It’s a dead end though, just like all the others. Sam and I are heading to Belarus today, try our luck there.”_

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she genuinely told him. Steve might be playing the part of the stoic soldier, but she knew every time they came up empty on finding Barnes, it gutted his heart every time. Sam’s texts only reinforced the idea.

“So,” she said after a moment of silence. “Are you calling about my text message?”

 _“What?”_ She could hear Steve’s confusion through the line. _“Oh, no. I had already known about it when you texted me. It’s seven hours ahead here, it was splashed the news when you texted me.”_

“What are you going to do about it?” Sharon played with the hemline of her trousers, fiddling with the glossy buttons at her hips.

_“Pepper called me, she thinks it would be best if I released a statement.”_

“What kind of statement?”

Steve sighed wearily before confiding, _“That I had no prior knowledge of Bucky’s existence as the Winter Soldier until only when Hydra was exposed. She wants me to reiterate that all blame should lay with Hydra and that Bucky was an unwilling prisoner.”_

“Well that’s good, right?” Sharon remarked, trying to find some positives to pass along to Steve. “It is the truth.”

Steve blew out a long breath. _“Yeah, I suppose. Pepper expects there will still be a fair amount of backlash.”_

“Yeah,” Sharon weakly agreed. “The thing is, the world always wants someone to blame, and Barnes…well, he’s an easy target right now.”

 _“Yeah,”_ Steve hollowly agreed and it made Sharon’s heart sad to know he was half a world away and she was here. She hoped Sam was managing his self-destructive tendencies. The last thing they needed was Steve to spiral downwards into the creeping depression he had had on and off during his short tenure at SHIELD.

But as always, Steve had a way of surprising her. _“How are you? How’s work?”_

Sharon was floored but she didn’t show it as she replied, “Work is…work. I’ve been stuck on desk duty ever since I joined up.”

 _“Desk duty?”_ It was adorable how disgusted he sounded on her behalf. _“Don’t they know you came from SHIELD?”_

Sharon snorted as she sipped her wine. “Yeah, well, when the former agency you worked for turns out to be crazy Nazis with plans of world annihilation, it really doesn’t count much as a character reference.”

 _“Oh, yeah.”_ Steve sounded apologetic,. _“Sorry about that.”_

“Don’t be,” Sharon chimed in immediately. “It wasn’t your fault.”

_“Still…”_

The two broke off into silence. It wasn’t awkward, exactly. It felt more like they were trying to figure each other out without the aid of actually noting each other’s facial expressions. It was that strange in-between place of what they had once been and what they now were to each other.

Friends, a tentative friendship still in its early days. It needed room to breathe, to just exist without pressure or expectation.

“Not that I’m not happy to hear from you,” she began hesitantly. “But why are you calling me?”

She didn’t need to see Steve to know that he was sporting a sheepish expression as he explained. _“Sam’s still sleeping, and, I don’t know, I just really wanted someone to talk to. And I thought of you.”_

She would forever deny the way a smile split across her face at his words. This is what she had always wanted for them, she wanted to be someone he confided in, someone he leaned on.

“Yeah?” she teasingly asked, knowing he was rolling his eyes across the line.

_“Forget I said anything.”_

“No!” she cried out. “No, don’t do that. I’m glad.”

_“…you are?”_

“Well, yeah, that’s what friends do, right?" she said, parroting back what he had once told her. "They talk.”

 _“Yes,”_ Steve answered,. _“They do. So, what have you been up to?”_

“Well, I grabbed dinner with Bri.”

 _“Really?”_ Steve asked interest piqued. Sharon leaned back into her couch, throwing a blanket over her legs as she got cozy. She had a feeling she wasn’t going anywhere for a while.

“Yeah, and you’ll never believe what’s she’s up to next…”

Outside night continued falling over DC.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone likes the addition of Izzy. I was really excited when writing him, hopefully his nuances and oddities shine through my writing. He's going to be a fun character to have around as the story develops. Fun fact: both Izzy and Bridge are actual Marvel characters, both worked for SHIELD in the comics. Izzy was actually a Commando under Fury. It's fun incorporating such characters into the story, updating and changing them to fit in. 
> 
> Pepper's trying to help Steve with the Bucky problem only because it will be a PR nightmare. Obviously though, while Bucky's identity has been revealed, the fact that he killed Tony's parents is still buried deep in the data dump. And going forward public opinion will be more on the negative when it comes to Bucky, the public not really believing that he's a brainwashed, POW. Same reception he got in CACW. 
> 
> And look at Blonde Squared! He called her because he wants someone to talk to! I'm really enjoying watching their relationship grow now that they're on the same page. I imagine Sharon will be a soothing presence for Steve as he continues searching for Bucky. 
> 
> Thank you for all the previous reviews! They are always a joy to receive. Please keep them coming! 
> 
> Pic time! 
> 
> Isadore 'Izzy' Cohen:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/40006993414/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Sharon jogging:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/40674361332/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Sharon meeting Izzy:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/40674361732/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Sharon when Bucky is outed:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/40674361612/in/dateposted-public/)


	15. Saying That I Want More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharon nodded, “I’ll do what needs to be done. I always do.”
> 
> Greer held up her hands defensively, “Look, all I’m saying is that when she wakes up tomorrow all she better be thinking is how you rocked her world.”
> 
> A cheeky grin came to Sharon’s face as she responded, “I aim to please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: slightly dubious sexual consent in this chapter as it is a honeypot mission where someone is targeted for sex as a way of gleaning information. Also, dubious drug use as well. Nothing too major, but I just wanted to properly warn anyone ahead of time.

**_July 7 th, 2014_ **

**_Langley, VA_ **

****

“So, tell me, Iz,” Sharon remarked as she lazily flicked the paper football towards Izzy’s makeshift goalpost across his desk. It veered sharply to the left, missing Izzy’s hands by a mile.

“If you’re a field agent-"

“Why do I detest going out into the field?” he astutely deduced as he picked up the stray football and lined up his shot towards her. She held up both hands as she awaited his attempt. It was a characteristically (or at least characteristically for Sharon) slow day at the CIA. After weeks of torture in the filing room, Sharon had finally conquered all the paperwork and had been bumped back to the bullpen where she dealt with…more paperwork.

She really was living the dream.

In her weeks at the CIA, she and Izzy’s relationship had morphed into a friendship of sorts. She could always count on him being in the office, unlike Greer and Antonia who filtered in and out on various missions. Sharon envied them greatly. No matter what she did it never seemed to be enough to lodge the massive stick out of Bridge’s ass.

“Exactly!” Sharon proclaimed as he fired his shot. And as usual, he missed massively. “I just don’t get it,” she mused as she lazily plucked the paper football out of the air, twirling it through her fingers.

Izzy blew out a frustrated breath as he reached up, pushing his glasses up his nose, but Sharon was sure that had just been a sneaky attempt at flipping her the bird. She stuck out her tongue in retort as she prepared her next move.

“Why would I want to go out into the field?” Izzy countered as he wriggled in his rolling chair. “Terrible things happen out in the field; you could get shot, or stabbed, or poisoned, or God forbid, get sand in places you never want to get sand in.”

Sharon couldn’t help but snort as sent the football flying out to come short of his goalpost. She cursed under her breath, head hanging in shame. She had been much better at this in college.

“Those things are part of the description, Iz. Well, except for maybe the sand.”

“I like being here,” Izzy said with conviction. “Where it’s boring and safe. I can’t die young, I owe my _Bubbe_ at least five grandchildren or she’ll haunt me after she passes. Her words, not mine.”

“Well, you know what they say,” Sharon slyly mentioned. “Only the good die young.”

“Yeah?” Izzy volleyed back dryly. “Aren’t you getting a little old then? Twenty-eight? Ancient.”

Laughter escaped Sharon before she could reign it in. She tried to glare at her coworker, but the effect was lost as she continued laughing.

“Ancient? You haven’t seen ancient,” she finally got out as he sent the football her way. “Steve Rogers just celebrated his 96th birthday. Do you know what’s it like to have been partners with a nonagenarian? A bit of a kick to the self-esteem.”

Izzy’s eyes lit up. Sharon should have seen this coming. It was the world’s worst kept secret in the bullpen that Sharon had come from SHIELD and had once been Captain America’s partner. Even now, months into her job, she still felt eyes on her when she was working, heard the hushed whispers whenever she walked into a room.

If she was this annoyed by the unwarranted attention, she could only imagine what Steve felt on a daily basis as he attempted to go through his life.

“Speaking of Captain America,” he clumsily segued in as Sharon bit back a smile at his unrefined moxie. “What’s he like?”

Sharon only shrugged as she fiddled with the paper toy. She had always been purposefully vague when it came to Steve, first out of necessity, then out of a desire to keep their burgeoning friendship between the two of them. “He’s very…blond.”

Izzy’s eyes narrowed in disbelief as he let her words flip through his rapid-fire brain. “Was that supposed to be some kind of dig at my Jewish heritage? What, are you saying he’s Arian? Wait?” Izzy comically gasped as he leaned in towards her and hissed out, “Is he secretly Hydra?”

Sharon’s only appropriate response was to roll her eyes towards the ceiling. “Please, Izzy, have some respect,” she solemnly said. “He knocked out Hitler over 200 times.”

Izzy bit his lip as he chewed over her words, missing her sarcasm laced words completely. “Hmmm…that sounds fake but okay.”

Sharon shook her head as she prepared to send her football flying. “No, never mind…it’s just a long-running family joke.”

She snapped the football and watched triumphantly as it sailed through Izzy’s goalpost. She threw her arms up, collapsing back into her chair, spinning it around.

“Goal!” she victoriously crowed as Izzy’s head banged down onto his desk, his groaning loud and incessant.

“Foul!” he cried out, raising his head. “I cry foul!”

“Save it for the refs, loser,” she cajoled as her chair continued whirled, the office becoming a monochrome, grey kaleidoscope.

“Cohen,” an assertive voice snapped. Izzy immediately sat up straight as Sharon threw her legs down, her spinning coming to an abrupt end as she locked eyes with a very unimpressed looking Bridge. She gulped and tried to look busy organizing files and pens atop her desk. Bridge’s eyes passed over her, seeking out Greer.

“Martin, conference room,” he beckoned with a nod. “We have a mission briefing.”

Greer sprang up, Izzy following much more reluctantly. Sharon watched them go, resigning herself to another long day of nothingness with a dash of lethargy on top. She softly exhaled before belatedly realizing that Bridge was still standing there, observing her with probing eyes.

Looking very put out, he gestured to her. “You too, Carter.”

Sharon blinked rapidly. Was this…did this mean?

“Sir?” she questioned with growing hope blossoming in her chest. Bridge huffed out an annoyed breath as he tapped his foot on the linoleum floors.

“Do I need to repeat myself, Carter? Conference room, now.”

Not needing to be told again, Sharon jumped up. She quickly unrolled the sleeve of her white blouse and eagerly followed at Bridge’s heels as he led her into the glass-encased conference room. Greer and Izzy were already seated at the table, looking over the mission reports that had been laid out before them.

Sharon ducked into the seat next to Greer, pulling the report towards her as Bridge dimmed the lights and began manning the slide presentation.

“I’m sure, Agent Carter,” he crisply addressed the room at large. “You’re wondering why I’ve suddenly warmed to the idea of you going out in the field.” A calculated grin crossed his face. “It’s easy, we’re dealing with some old friends of yours: Hydra.”

Sharon’s blood ran cold at Bridge’s scornful implication. Across the table, she saw Izzy mutter _Oh snap_ to himself as he studiously kept his head down. It was only when Greer knocked her foot into Sharon’s that the blonde realized she had curled her hands into such tight fists that her nails were piercing through her skin.

She slowly unfurled them as she fought to keep her cool. It was one thing for Bridge not to like her, but to ever suggest she was complicit in anything Hydra had done during her time at SHIELD, was like a shot to the heart. She wanted to get up and punch that patronizing grin off of his self-righteous face. Instead, she forced in a calming breath and used every inch of willpower in her body to meet Bridge’s gaze unflinchingly.

“I’ll do whatever I can to help, _sir._ ”

The two stayed in a stare down for a long moment before Bridge’s eyes flittered away, lightly chuckling all the while, like this was an easy conversation for him.

“Now, that’s what I want to hear. Here is our Hydra scum in question.”

With a click of his remote, the slide shifted, revealing an older gentleman. He had distinctly European features: a strong face weathered from numerous years spent out in the sun, no doubt yachting on the shores of the Mediterranean or Lake Como. His salt-and-pepper hair was meticulously styled as was his beard. He was posturing with the ease of a man who had been born into immense wealth with a rakish air to him as he grinned charmingly towards the camera, his deep, blue eyes a striking contrast to his tan skin.

“Meet Count Otto Vermis, a European nobleman. He’s been a person of interest for years now but we’ve never gotten anything to stick, but it wasn’t until that data dump by the hands of SHIELD.” He sent a condescending smile towards Sharon. “We finally have some damning evidence against the Count.”

With another click images of Hydra and civil unrest appeared across the projection screen.

“It turns out that for years the Count served as the head of a Hydra splinter cell operating throughout the European continent. We have reason to believe that this cell was responsible in part for the Georgian Civil War. He is now wanted by the UN for various crimes against humanity. As you can imagine, when those helicarriers came crashing out of the sky and all of Hydra’s dirty secrets made it onto the internet, the Count made himself scarce. He has not been publically seen since March. He’s completely gone to ground. Our only tip to his whereabouts is his daughter, Miss Josephina Vermis.”

Another click and an image of a young woman filled the screen. She was intoxicatingly beautiful with wild curls and dark eyes. The picture was from either a nightclub or event, she was in the middle of a throng of dancing people, head thrown back in ecstasy. A video began playing, grainy and most likely taken by paps, of the woman stumbling out of a club in a scantily clad dress and stilettos with inches to spare.

“I recognize her,” Greer said from next to Sharon. “She’s on all the gossip rags. Hard-partying heiress, pretty cliché if you ask me.”

“Doesn’t she party with the Kardashians?” Izzy inquired from across the table.

“No, better,” Greer cut in. “The Casiraghis.”

At the collective blank looks sent her way Greer sighed despondently. “The Monaco Royal Family? You are all aware that there are more monarchs out there than just Queen Elizabeth, right?”

Contemplative silence fell over the room.

Bridge rolled his eyes as he continued his briefing.

“It seems the enormity of keeping her father’s secrets are finally getting to Miss Vermis. She’s apparently on a cocktail of drugs from heroin to cocaine. Our sources say she spends most days deeply inebriated. She’s going downhill real fast, the paranoia and fear of protecting her father are causing her to crack.”

His eyes flashed towards Sharon challengingly. “It will be Agent Carter’s mission to exploit those cracks to our advantage. We were able to get a mole on the inside as a member of the cleaning staff at Miss Vermis’ estate in Majorca. They were able to send us this.”

A new picture came up. It was a jumbled shot, shakily taken when no one was watching. It displayed an ornate hallway. What immediately stuck out was that located next to one closed door was a hand scanner.

“Inside that room we believe is a computer that contains the location of the Count’s safe house. We get that info, we get the Count. Luckily for us, Miss Vermis is holding a party at her Majorca estate this weekend.”

Bridge turned to his agents and stated matter-of-factly, “Carter, you’ll attend the party, get close to Miss Vermis, extract her prints and root out his location. Cohen and Martin will provide backup as well as make up your force for taking the Count from his safe house.”

“Question, sir?” Sharon called out as she read over the mission parameters.

“Permitted.”

“How will I be subduing the target?” she asked. “I imagine with some kind of sedative?”

Bridge’s mouth curled up slightly. “Yes and no.”

Sharon scrunched her nose in confusion as she stared at her superior. “…sir?”

“You will use a sedative on Miss Vermis. However, as I stated before, her paranoia is spiraling. It’s not enough for you to drug her. If she wakes up untouched the next morning, she’ll immediately panic and send word to her father and our window of opportunity will be gone. You’re going to have to get… _physical._ ”

Sharon stiffened. With a sense of dread, she realized where this was going, where it had always been going. She now knew with sickening realization why he had chosen her for this mission and it wasn’t because it was Hydra.

Bridge’s eyes bored into hers unforgivingly. “This is a honeypot operation.”

Honeypots, a romanticized yet necessary part of espionage. It wasn’t just James Bond who got down and dirty for the sake of national security. Natasha and Clint were old pros at them as well. They had never been Sharon’s area of expertise, but that didn’t mean she had completely escaped them during her time at SHIELD. She had never been a fan, but she got the job done. It was an odd sensation, to give your body over to someone else in the sake of gaining information in return. _Prostitution for Uncle Sam_ as Natasha always derisively joked with a wink.  

Still, the way Bridge was presenting it, the way he was sizing her up as she sat there in quiet shock, it was enough for her to want to be sick. She forcibly swallowed down the bile, ignoring the woozy feeling. She wouldn’t give the man an inch of her uncertainty. She was a professional.

Bridge placed his hands on his hips as he watched her. “Will that be a problem for you, agent?”

Sharon’s eyes narrowed as she glowered back at him, but still, she answered evenly. “Not at all.”

Bridge’s mouth quirked up. “Excellent. Agents, you’re shipping out tonight. Start packing.”

He dismissed them with a nod. Izzy was the first to go, Greer following but not without a sharp glance towards Sharon as she departed.

Sharon remained in the conference room, alone with her swirling thoughts as she stared down at the report laid out in front of her.

And just like that, Sharon had her first mission at the CIA.

She just didn’t know how she felt about it.

 

+++

 

Sharon still felt a sense of numbness curling throughout her bloodstream as she stood in her bedroom hours later, packing for the mission at hand. She mindlessly went through the mundane actions, sorting through clothing, makeup, and weapons to bring along. It was only as she was zipping up her duffle bag that she was thrown back into the present as her cellphone jarringly rang.

She mechanically picked it up, eyes racing across the screen as she noted who was attempting to reach her.

**Mom**

Just what she needed right now. With a sigh, she accepted the call and brought up the phone to her ear.

“What’s up, Mamacita?” she distractedly asked, phone cradled between her shoulder and ear as she put the final touches on her packing.

 _“What’s better?”_ Amanda Carter asked without preamble, already five steps ahead in a conversation that Sharon couldn’t hope to understand. _“Bone china or porcelain?”_

“Uh…” Sharon dithered as she wandered into her bathroom, collecting toiletries. “I don’t know nor do I really care. Why?”

Her mom giggled, clearly thinking Sharon was in on the joke. Sharon only stared at her own reflection in puzzlement. Eventually, the laughter died away as an uncomfortable pause settled in between the mother-daughter pairing.

 _“Wait,”_ her mom interjected. _“You’re kidding, right?”_

“About what?” Sharon asked with furrowed brows. “Why would I care about chinaware? I don’t need any if that’s what you’re asking.”

_“It’s not for you, Sharon. It’s for Catherine. Her bridal shower is this weekend, remember? I’m looking at her registry right now.”_

The blonde immediately froze at the words.

Oh shit.

“Shit,” Sharon muttered underneath her breath as her head fell forward, lightly knocking into the mirror. She had completely forgotten about Catherine’s upcoming bridal shower. Oh God, this was terrible.

 _“That doesn’t sound good,”_ Amanda cautiously stated as she waited her daughter out.

“It’s very much not good,” Sharon groaned despairingly. “I can’t make it this weekend.”

 _“Sharon!”_ Amanda screeched as the blonde winced on the other side of the line. _“You’re her Maid of Honor. She’s expecting you to be there.”_

“I know that,” Sharon snapped as she paced in her bedroom. “But I can’t, okay? It’s a work thing.”

 _“Can’t you reschedule?”_ Amanda weakly suggested, already knowing that she sounded ridiculous.

Sharon rolled her eyes. “It’s the CIA, Mom. No, I cannot reschedule my _classified mission._ ”

 _“Well,”_ Amanda defensively mused. _“It was just a thought.”_

Sharon shook her head as she agitatedly ran a hand through her wavy hair, trying to work through the problem at hand. She couldn’t be in two places at once, and this was her first field mission with the CIA, Catherine would understand. Wouldn’t she?

“Look,” Sharon stated optimistically. “Catherine’s a rational, logical human being. I will text her, explain the situation, and she will…understand and forgive.”

Silence followed.

 _“…if you say so,”_ Amanda finally said as Sharon’s heart dropped.

“She will!” she exclaimed indignantly. “It will all be fine. I will fix this.”

_“So, I’m guessing that your father and I will be purchasing a gift and putting your name on the card.”_

Sharon closed her eyes as she chewed on her lip. “That would be amazing and I would love you forever if you did.”

_“The things I do for you, kid. Alright, I will enjoy the bridal shower and you…come back alive and somewhat in one piece, you hear?”_

Sharon chuckled as she bobbed her head, even though her mom couldn’t see the gesture.

“Sure thing, Mom. Love you.”

_“Love you too.”_

Sharon hung up before letting out a loud growl before collapsing onto her bed face first. She burrowed into the sheets as she thought through her options.

Her first CIA mission hadn’t even begun yet and already things were a mess.

 

* * *

 

 

**_July 10 th, 2014_ **

**_Majorca_ **

****

_God, this skirt is short,_ Sharon couldn’t help but think as she tugged at the gold, sequined mini-skirt, shimmying the material down her hips. It just barely covered the swell of her ass. She sucked in a breath as she continued getting ready in the bedroom of their safe house.

She came to a stop in front of the dingy mirror as she continued working on her metallic smoky eye, mastering the night out aesthetic. Her hair was artistically tousled in a messy up-do. On her legs were stocking-like, over the knee wedge boots that only accentuated how long her legs truly were, making it seem as if they went on for miles and miles.

There was a nervous energy to her movements. She was usually so fluid, so in the moment, but she couldn’t help but fiddle with everything from her blouse to her mascara brush. She didn’t know where the nerves were coming from, whether it was because this was her first mission with the CIA or rather because of the nature of the mission.

She wasn’t a blushing virgin. Her relationship with Neal was proof enough of that.

Still…doing this, it felt different than anything SHIELD had ever asked of her. However, that wasn’t going to stop her from following the mission parameters to the best of her abilities. She’d give that Vermis girl the night of her life.

“Woah,” Greer whistled as she sauntered into the room. “Looking hot, cuz.”

“Don’t I always?” Sharon joked as she turned towards Greer.

Her cousin only smirked in return. “Yeah, most days you’re an 8, but now you’re a certifiable 11. Josephina Vermis is going to eat you up.”

If Sharon’s flinch was noticeable, Greer was kind enough not to mention it as she stepped closer to her cousin, wiping away invisible lint from her shoulders.

“It’s funny,” she quietly pondered. “One would think Bridge would have given this mission to me. Ladies are my specialty, after all. Just ask Antonia. She’s a well-satisfied woman.”

Sharon let out a brittle chuckle, bitterness lacing her words as she spoke. “You heard Bridge, Hydra’s _my_ specialty.”

Greer’s eyes flashed up towards Sharon’s, concern apparent in her gaze. “You sure you up for this?”

“This isn’t my first honeypot,” Sharon said dismissively. “I’ll be fine.”

“A honeypot with a woman is very different than a honeypot with a man.” Greer’s grin turned positively wicked as she winked. “Much more fun.”

Sharon quirked an eyebrow. “Who says I’ve never been with a woman before?”

“Have you?” Greer countered back with interested eyes.

Sharon only gave a blasé shrug. “Everyone has an experimental phase in college.”

“Well, color me surprised,” Greer declared in an impressed tone. “Maybe you are cut out for this after all.”

Her smile faded as she placed her hands on her hips. “Look, all joking aside, I’ve been reading up on our target, watching her movements, watching who and what she goes for. They key is: you have to dominate her. She’s spiraling due to daddy dearest, the drugs and alcohol are only the surface level of the shit she’s going through. She wants partners who can make her forget, if even for five minutes.”

Sharon watched her cousin avidly, soaking in all the pertinent information.

“She doesn’t want a loving touch and whispered declarations of intent. You have to take her, you have to be in control the entire time or she won’t play hardball with you. Biting, scratching, bruises, the whole gambit. You have to sell this.”

Sharon nodded. “I’ll do what needs to be done. I always do.”

Greer held up her hands defensively. “Look, all I’m saying is that when she wakes up tomorrow all she better be thinking is how you rocked her world.”

A cheeky grin came to Sharon’s face as she responded, “I aim to please.”

Greer threw her head back and laughed as Sharon ventured towards the door, ready to get this show on the road.

“Go get ‘em, rookie.”

Sharon froze on the spot, eyes narrowing in disbelief as she scoffed. “Rookie? Really?”

“Hey,” Greer pointed. “This is my turf, you’re the newbie here.”

Sharon could only consent to that line of reasoning. “Fair enough.”

She turned to go but once again stopped as Greer pointedly cleared her throat. She glanced over her shoulder.

“Forgetting something?”

Sharon brows furrowed as she patted herself down, no, everything was accounted for. Greer only sighed as she held up Sharon’s black clutch.

“You’ll be needing this,” Greer said as she tossed it towards her fellow blonde. Sharon caught it easily and gave a thankful nod before pivoting on her heel and confidently swaggering out of her room. She went through the less than ideal safe house and came outside where Izzy was waiting for her, ready to play chauffeur with a nondescript luxury car.

“My lady,” he greeted with a jaunty tip of his head as he opened the door for her. She couldn’t keep the amused grin off her face as she easily slipped into the car. Izzy sidled towards the driver’s seat and then they were off.

Sharon remained stone-faced and silent as the car traveled through the heady, summer night, bringing them to a luxurious, stone mansion situated on rocky cliffs overlooking the Mediterranean.

Sharon looked ahead as the car entered the line of extravagant sports cars all waiting to be shuffled away by the valet service.

“Wow,” Izzy whistled appreciatively as he eyed the majestic estate. “Nice house.”

“No kidding,” she replied before turning serious. “Do you have the goods?” she asked as Izzy glanced into the rearview mirror, the two locking eyes.

“I always do,” he quipped before holding up a small vial filled with a colorless liquid. He wordlessly handed it back to her as she examined it closely.

“How long does it take to kick in?” she asked, raising her head to look at Izzy.

“Ten minutes, give or take. Pretty quick.”

Sharon raised her shoulders in a half-shrug. “One can get up to a lot of trouble in only ten minutes.”

She nodded gratefully as she slipped the vial into her bra. “Thanks, Iz.”

“No problemo,” the car moved up, inching closer and closer to the front. “When you’re done wining and dining, call me, I’ll come pick you up.”

Sharon bit back her smirk just as her door opened and a red-jacketed valet peered in, holding out his hand to her. She took it and gracefully emerged from the car. Breathing in one final breath she instantly transformed into mission mode.

With a confident smile, she sashayed towards the grand entrance. Guards stood at their posts, checking bags. Sharon’s eyes swept over them, noticing the gun holsters hidden beneath their suit jackets. She kept a winning smile on her face as her clutch was taken from her and briskly examined. The guard remained stone-faced as he rifled through it, spying a compact, makeup brush, and lipstick tube. The guard looked from her to the bag before grunting and handing it over.

 _“Gracias,”_ she murmured as he allowed her into the overflowing rush of people. It seemed the who’s who of Europe were crammed into the mansion. Loud club music blasted throughout the space, so resounding that she could feel it thrumming throughout her body. It was a hot summer night, an alluring headiness hanging through the air as young, virile bodies pushed and pressed against one another with reckless abandon.

Sharon prowled through the dense crowd, eyes on the lookout for Josephina Vermis. As she was passing some billionaire’s heir she knocked into him suddenly, her hand deftly slipping beneath his suit jacket as she righted herself with an embarrassed giggle. She waved apologetically, slipping back into the crowd, his valet ticket held securely in her grip. She furtively slipped it into her cleavage as she pushed through the crowd and emerged outside near the pool.

The DJ was on his platform above the crowd as he set the mood for the night. Sharon skirted around the crowd of dancing partygoers. It was hard to tell where one body ended and the next one began in this bacchanal orgy. Skin was freely on display on the tan, god-like bodies of the rich and beautiful.

Sharon found herself at the bar as she ordered a single cherry bomb shot. As she waited for the drink she absentmindedly fiddled with a box of matches resting on the bar top. She nodded her thanks when the bartender placed the shot glass in front of her and downed the bright, red drink, the vodka burning her throat as she demolished her liquid courage. She languidly leaned back against the bar, hip cocked and legs stretched out, a feigned air of indifferent boredom crossing her face as she scoped out the scene.

The mansion was situated atop a rocky bluff, the deep blue waters of the Mediterranean stretching out before them. In the night she could see glittering lights across the paradisiac bay as ships sailed across the smooth waters. In the distance, she could hear the faint crash of waves as they swept across the shoreline.

Through the erratic strobe lights, her eyes cut to a cabana poolside. A bewitching company of people was crammed together on the couches. The table before them was filled to the brim with alcohol of every imaginable variety. At the center of the elusive party was none other than Sharon’s target: Josephina Vermis. She was immediately recognizable by her hypnotic beauty, on clear display to everyone around her.

Sharon watched interestedly as she wildly gesticulated her arms, regaling her sycophantic followers with her larger than life stories. A wild laugh broke out among her lackeys as they loudly howled their approval. Josephina, dark eyes rimmed by thick kohl, threw her head back in laughter. She eventually regained control of herself and wobbly leaned forward to the table where a recognizable white line of cocaine innocuously rested on the glass tabletop. Sharon observed as she placed her head down and went through the telltale signs of doing a bump.

She threw her head back, curls flying everywhere, mouth forming a wide ‘O’ as the drug took effect. She stood, swaying lightly as her cheetah print dress clung to her curves. On her teetering stilettos, she sauntered her way right towards Sharon.

Sharon made a point of not watching her as Josephina came right up next to her, slamming her hand forcefully down on the bar.

“A Highball,” she demanded in a delicate French accent. She blew out a heavy breath as the drink was made. Out of the corner of her eye, Sharon noticed the heiress pull out a single cigarette and agitatedly began clinking away at her lighter. It fired off, but the flame never held.

Seeing an opportunity when she saw one, Sharon swiped up the box of matches next to her.

“Let me,” she cut in, efficiently igniting a match. A flare of light erupted as Sharon offered it up to Josephina. The woman blinked for a long moment, looking from Sharon to the open flame, before slowly leaning in as it caught the end of her cigarette.  

Sharon shook the match and tossed it aside, turning her body to face Josephina completely. She jutted out her hip in an enticing manner, her body completely on display. In lieu of thanking the blonde, Josephina took a drag of the cigarette and carelessly blew it out in Sharon’s direction.

Sharon’s eyes watered but she kept in her cough as Josephina eyed her warily. The Count’s daughter only took her scrutinizing gaze off Sharon when her drink arrived. She reached for it, gulping more than half of it in a single sip.

“A Highball, huh,” Sharon nonchalantly mused. “A good drink.”

Without looking at her Josephina inattentively answered, “It is.”  

“Good drink to get drunk to.”

Josephina callously snorted as she swirled the amber liquid in her glass. “I’m not drunk enough.”

“Well, I could always help with that.” Sharon leaned in with a captivating grin. She pulled her shoulders back so that her breasts popped beneath the plunge of her top. She watched as Josephina’s eyes darted down, seeking what was hidden before they moved up to her face as she inquired in a feigned disinterested tone.

“…and you are?”

“Georgia Vanderbilt,” Sharon answered easily, following her cover story as the daughter of an American tycoon. She held out her hand to shake but was rebuffed as Josephina continued sipping from her glass.

“Ah,” she hummed to herself as she eyed Sharon, her eyes drawn to the hemline of the blonde’s miniskirt. “An American.”

Sharon’s grin turned solicitous as she shrugged. “Guilty as charged.”

“Let me guess,” The heiress pondered with a wag of her finger. “You’re spending the summer in Europe as a gift from your father, sailing around on a yacht and seeing the sights. Am I right?”

Sharon’s lip curled up as she leaned back, observing the party going on around her. “What gave it away?”

Josephina’s lip quirked up as she sneered, a look of superiority marring her lovely face. “You’re all so predictable. You don’t know what to do with money unless you’re flashing it around for everyone to see.”

Sharon chuckled at her acerbic tone. “Perhaps, but it makes Daddy happy to spend it on me.”

She couldn’t help but notice the minute flinch Josephina gave at the mention of Sharon’s – well, rather Georgia’s – father. She’d use that to her advantage.

“And it’s not so bad,” Sharon mused as she subtly licked her lips. “Seeing the culture has been fun.”

Josephina rolled her eyes but pressed in closer to Sharon’s personal space as she admonished. “You Americans don’t understand culture. Culture to you is taking selfies in front of the Eiffel Tower or taking pictures of Big Ben.” Her eyes flashed as she continued teasing. “So very pedestrian.”

Sharon batted her eyes as she played along. “How’s this for culture? _L’amour est une sale affaire.”_

Josephina arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Love is a dirty business. Very deep. Is that what you’re looking for? Love?”

Sharon’s grin turned positively wicked as she made no attempt to stop her eyes from wandering up and down Josephina’s body. Slowly, she met the woman’s gaze and held it.

“Among other things.”

A beat passed, the women still locked together, waiting for the first one to break. Very deliberately Josephina reached for her glass, raised it and finished her drink slowly, making sure Sharon could watch the way her throat bobbed as the alcohol went down. She set it down before looking out into the sea of gyrating bodies as club music continued booming.

“Do you dance?” she inquired, smiling seductively. Sharon felt victory rolling her through her as she grinned in return.

“When it’s the right partner.”

Josephina’s smile only grew as she nodded once to the dancefloor before strutting into the chaotic fray, clearly expecting Sharon to follow her into the thicket. After a moment Sharon pushed herself off of the bar, grabbing her clutch and stalked into the mosh pit of dancing bodies, eyes searching for curly hair and dark eyes.

She didn’t startle when arms wrapped around her from behind, a lush body pressing into her invitingly.

“Dance with me, _mon chaton,”_ a provocative voice whispered as the hands rested at her hips and squeezed once. Sharon’s eyes slipped shut as she allowed the high energy of the music to sink into her bones, swaying her body as she moved along to the beat.

She was quick to pivot on her heel coming face to face with Josephina as she wound her arms around the woman’s trim waist and hauled her in. Pressed together, limb to limb, the two women moved against one another as the heat of the summer night, the intoxicating atmosphere, and the weight of other bodies consumed them.

Sharon threw her arms around Josephina’s neck as she dictated this little dance between them. Her hands were everywhere at once, feeling the sultry silkiness of Josephina’s cocktail dress. They swept down the woman’s backside, hovering above the swell of her ass before Sharon palmed the flesh and squeezed. Josephina’s hips jerked against Sharon’s as the blonde did it again, feeling Josephina’s heat against her own.

They continued grinding against one another as Sharon noticed the bead of sweat resting idly against Josephina’s long, pale neck. With Greer’s words of wisdom surging through her, she couldn’t help but lean in to lick it up. She felt Josephina’s breath stutter and with that sign, she bit down hard on the creamy skin.

Josephina threw her head back, giving Sharon ample room to work with. She took her time, biting and sucking in equal measure as her hands continued roaming over her target’s body. When a beautiful bruise blossomed against her skin, Sharon pulled her head back to admire her handy work.

“Is that all your mouth is good for, _mon chaton?”_ Josephina baited, eyes heavily lidded with lust coursing through them.

Sharon smirked triumphantly as her hands framed Josephina’s face. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

She didn’t give her time to come up with a witty comeback before she was pulled her down, crashing their lips together greedily. Her tongue plunged into the wet, sumptuous heat of Josephina’s mouth. The Count’s daughter gave in instantly, allowing Sharon to have her way with her.

All around them the party waged on as Sharon conquered the heiress’ mouth. She didn’t know how many minutes passed before she was pulled back, admiring how bruised Josephina’s lips appeared and the flush spreading across the apples of her cheeks.

“Do you have a bedroom?” she breathlessly demanded. “Or are we doing this here in front of everyone?”

Josephina choked out a harried laugh as she reached for Sharon’s hand and began tugging her through the crowd.

“So crass,” she called over the music. “You Americans.”

“I’ll show you crass,” Sharon muttered as she reached out, groping Josephina’s perky behind. The woman squawked but nonetheless continued guiding Sharon through the pack filled mansion and to the staircase. They hurried up, coming upon the same hallway from Sharon’s mission briefing.

Her eyes darted down, spying the room with the scanner. Thinking fast she harshly pushed Josephina into the wall, swallowing her cry of protest. She kissed hard and without remorse as the woman opened up before her.

Josephina’s skin was hot everywhere as Sharon’s fingers ran over it. She snuck a leg in between Josephina’s, wedging it into the middle of her thighs. Her tongue was exploring every crevasse of the heiress’ plump mouth, toying and playing to her heart's content. Josephina’s hips jerked, seeking friction against Sharon's.

“Bedroom,” Sharon panted they separated. Josephina led them into an extravagant bedroom overlooking the Mediterranean below. It was cool, a far cry from the night air and the heat developing between them. Sharon could feel the slick sweat of her body as she sauntered towards the wall of windows, tossing her clutch aside along the way.

She instantly spied a table with a tumbler of whiskey resting on it with several glasses.

Perfect.

Keeping her back to her target, she reached down, pouring both of them a heaping glass of the amber liquid. She very carefully raised one of the glasses, keeping her fingers to the base, as she stealthily pulled out the vial and poured it in. It mixed together easily as she sloshed the drink around. She had only just hidden the vial back into her bra when arms enclosed around her.

“Where were we?” Josephina huskily inquired with a tug of Sharon’s ear. The blonde tipped back, letting out an appropriate moan as Josephina’s hands wandered shamelessly across her chest. She only pulled away when one went searching beneath her skirt. She turned towards her target with a beguiling grin as she offered her the glass.

“A toast,” she remarked as she held up her own glass. “To culture.”

Josephina snorted as she watched Sharon avidly. “To fucking.”

The blonde couldn’t resist smiling as she nodded once. “That too.”

Sharon watched intently as Josephina downed the drink in a single sip. Ten minutes from now she’d be dead to the world around her. Until then, Sharon had to give her the night of her life. She finished her own drink as both glasses were set down.

Sharon crowded into Josephina’s arms, capturing her lips. She manhandled the heiress backward, moving bot to the luxurious bed. When they came to the foot of it Sharon pushed her down. Josephina landed and wiggled up the bed, the skirt of her dress working up her hips, leaving her legs on full display.

Sharon lunged, crawling up the woman’s body as kissing continued. When Josephina’s hands inched towards Sharon, the spy was quick to grab both hands and force them down to the mattress.

“Not yet,” she promised as she held the heiress down. Her lips roamed across the sleek skin of her neck. She bit down, humming to herself as she stuck out her tongue to soothe the skin, lapping up the fallen beads of sweat, the salt tangy on her lips.

Josephina mewled beneath her, her body quivering with pent up desire. Sharon purposefully kept her hips out of reach, not allowing her target any reprieve as she continued her ministrations. Finally, she released the woman’s arms as her hands reached for the neckline of her dress.

With a mighty tug, she ripped the dress in half, exposing Josephina’s breasts to the night air. The dusky pink nipples immediately rose to attention as Sharon's finger circled the right one.

“That dress cost two thousand dollars,” Josephina huffed out, her chest rising and falling quickly.

 Sharon only smirked as she continued playing with the nipple. “I’ll buy you another one.”

She leaned down as she kissed across the map of Josephina’s torso. Her teeth were relentless as she nipped at her own pleasure. The heiress was a mess beneath her, hips constantly moving, searching for absolution as Sharon lavished attention across her breasts, marking them extensively. When the woman’s movements turned desperate, Sharon allowed her hand to skim down, tracing over Josephina’s lacy underwear.

Josephina cried out as Sharon’s fingers danced over the thong, ignoring the wetness developing down there. The heiress’ hips helplessly stuttered as Sharon finally ground down against them. Josephina threw her head back, cursing in French as Sharon continued working her over.

Eventually, her fingers slipped beneath the panties, feeling the dampness building up. She toyed with Josephina’s body, giving her only an inch when she demanded a mile, before moving away and starting the process all over again.

She watched as the flush spread throughout the curvy body as Sharon continued taking and taking, but never giving her what she so frantically desired. Eventually, Sharon finally gave in, sliding down Josephina’s body. She pulled down the soaked panties, discarding them as her hands generously ran up and down her milky thighs.

“Stop teasing,” Josephina barked from her spot. Sharon only laughed as she leaned in, ignoring the prize as she snipped at the woman’s thighs. Josephina cursed, eyes slipping shut as Sharon continued her services. She made sure to leave noticeable bite-marks that the heiress would see tomorrow when she woke up.

“Please,” Josephina moaned as Sharon continued ignoring her hidden spot. With a wicked grin, she finally pressed in, her tongue twirling expertly as she threw the brunette’s legs over her shoulders. She set a fast, hard pace as she felt the tension build to a perfect crescendo in Josephina’s body. Her target tensed and with a guttural cry came as Sharon worked her through it, tongue and fingers working in tandem with one another.

When she was finally done with her torture, Josephina’s body was pliant and loose as the after-effects of her orgasm continued swimming through her. Sharon’s smugly grinned, her mouth slick as she sidled up her body, straddling her easily.

“Pretty good,” she lightly mused as she blew a stray piece of hair out of her eyes. “For a crass American.”

Josephina rolled her eyes good-naturedly as her hands worked up the back of Sharon’s legs, coming to rest on her ass. She squeezed and Sharon bucked her hips, playing along beautifully. Josephina’s lethargy disappeared as she surged up, once more connecting their lips. Her tongue swiped into Sharon’s mouth as she tasted herself on Sharon's lips. She pushed up Sharon’s skirt, hands moving impatiently towards her panties.

She rolled them over so that Sharon was now pressed into the mattress. Sharon watched as she swayed uneasily, her eyes dropping fast. Still, Sharon gasped when her fingers caressed her clitoris. Sharon was wet too because that’s what one did on a honeypot. It wasn’t enough to sell sex, one had to always feel it.

Sharon continued moaning as she watched Josephina. The heiress’ eyes slipped shut as the sedative finally kicked in. She slumped forward, completely unconscious. Her head fell forward, falling into the groove of Sharon’s shoulder as her body went loose.

Sharon remained still for a long moment, ensuring that her target was out. When she could confirm it, she gently but firmly rolled Josephina off of her. She briskly stood and as sudden as flipping a switch, she was in mission mode. She divested her target of her clothing and tucked her under the covers.

With that complete, she walked quickly to the table, picking up her clutch along the way. She opened it up as she came upon Josephina’s empty glass.

A glass she had touched with all five of her right-hand fingers.

She calmly pulled out the compact and brush. Opening the compact revealed the powder inside. It wasn’t face powder though, but rather the one for dusting fingerprints.

She quickly got to work, dusting every inch of the glass with the fine powder. She watched as her target’s fingerprints appeared. When that was complete she reached for the underside of her compact and pulled out the clear tape hidden within.

She taped the five prints, pressing down as they formed to the adhesion of the tape. She slowly pulled it off the glass as all the prints stuck to the tape, providing a perfect subterfuge for her. Ripping the tape, she placed the correct prints to her own hands.

On to the next part.

She scooped up her clutch as she stood, eyes immediately moving to the bed where Josephina was sprawled beneath the covers. She was breathing heavily, completely dead to the world. Sharon watched her for a moment before hardening herself. She moved to the door, opening it only a crack and peering out.

Finding the hallway empty, she slunk out and moved towards the door down the hall. She came upon the scanner and confident in her sleuthing, pressed her palm against it. It lit up as it scanned all five prints.

Sharon nearly crowed in victory when the door unlocked. She quickly slid into the room, shutting the door behind her. The room was a study and at the center of it was a desk with a computer.

A computer that would tell her the Count’s location.

She dropped down into the chair as she pulled out her lipstick. She tugged off the top to reveal a hard drive-like device Izzy had affectionately named the Scrambler. She undid the bottom as an earpiece dropped out. She jammed it into her ear.

“Guys? You with me?”

 _“Took you long enough,”_ Greer greeted, her voice echoing into Sharon’s ear.

 _“Well, she was pretty busy,”_ Izzy helpfully remarked. _“It’s a lot of work sexing up people.”_

 _“As if you would know,”_ Greer taunted as Sharon rolled her eyes.

“Focus, children,” she snapped as she turned on the computer. She wasn’t surprised when she was immediately met with a login screen. She wouldn’t be surprised that if she entered the wrong password, even once, the entire computer system would shut down and security would be alerted to the breach.

This had to be perfect if they had any hope of locating the Count.

“Iz,” she said as she held up the Scrambler, a bit skeptical of its abilities. “You sure this will thing will get me in?”

 _“A hundred percent,”_ he easily replied before poignantly pausing. _“Well, maybe not 100%. Nothing’s ever perfect. I’d say, 99.99%.”_

“Lovely,” Sharon muttered as she stuck it into the computer. “How long will I have?”

_“About two minutes from…now.”_

The screen immediately went black before coming back online seconds later, completely bypassing the login screen to reveal the home screen. All the firewalls and security measures completely erased, if only temporarily.

“Wow,” she whispered. “That is impressive.”

 _“Thank you,”_ Izzy replied cheekily. _“Just remember, if you can’t find the Count within the next two minutes, our window of opportunity will be completely shot.”_

 _“No pressure,”_ Greer chimed in.

Sharon cracked her knuckles and immediately got to work, searching every available file. She typed like a mad woman, working through the encryptions.

 _“Less than a minute,”_ Izzy warned as Sharon swore and continued her searching. Her eyebrows furrowed as she finally found something interesting. She investigated it as satellite images and a map appeared.

“I think I found something,” she murmured as she continued digging.

 _“Good,”_ Greer answered. _“Because you only have 30 seconds remaining.”_

She scoured the document and came upon latitude and longitude coordinates. She rattled them off as Greer searched them from their end.

 _“It’s coming from the Vosges, in France,”_ she supplied through the line. Sharon grinned victoriously.

“Well, then, I guess we’re going to France.” She pulled out the Scrambler, pocketing it in her clutch.

 _“Awesome,”_ Izzy cheered. _“I’ll bring the car around.”_

“Don’t worry about me,” Sharon said as she moved towards the door. “I have my own ride.”

She ignored the twin cries of protesting screeching through the line.

 _“Wait, what -"_ She pulled out the earpiece, dropping it in her purse before snapping it shut. She cautiously approached the door, slowly opening and surveying the empty hallway. She quietly walked the hallway, coming to a stop at a mirror. She halted and checked her reflection. She reached up, running her hands through her hair, messing it up as she wiped at her lips and eyes, giving the appearance of a wild romp.

As she walked down the stairs she made sure to tip and sway, coming off as giggling and sloshed. Luckily for her, the party was still raging on and no one gave her a second glance as she slipped through the crowd.

She walked up to the red-jacketed valet as she slipped the ticket out of her cleavage and handed it over. She kept the clutch close to her as _her_ new car arrived. Her jaw dropped as a sexy, scarlet Pininfarina Sergio came to a stop and the valet rolled up the scissor door. It was all sleek lines as it rumbled before her. 

Sharon sank into the sinfully luxurious leather seat. The luxury sports car purred as her hand clutched the gear shift.  

“Ooh, Momma likes this,” she whispered to herself as she pressed down, the car roaring majestically. She shifted into gear and pressed down on the gas, tearing down the gravel drive and into the humid, summer night, leaving the glittering party and beautiful heiress behind. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I've had this chapter planned for so long, but yet when it came to writing it, I just kept drawing a blank every single time. I hope it was worth the wait though! Hopefully this chapter plays as well as I wanted it too. I was a bit worried having a somewhat graphic sex scene, especially being that it's a honeypot, but I felt it was appropriate for the circumstances. I also wanted to stress with this chapter that things such as honeypots were required even by SHIELD, however Sharon had rose colored glasses when it came to her perception of SHIELD, so she never questioned such things because she trusted the system. Her misgivings with this honeypot for the CIA stem from the fact that she is no longer so trusting of her employers in the way she was while at SHIELD. Hopefully that comes across. 
> 
> Count Vermis is an actual character from the comics, Josephina however is an OC. I had fun with my Hydra Cap joke. Such a weird idea from the comics, I'm glad they fixed that though. I also included Steve's line on waiting for the right partner. I wonder who's Sharon's is...hmm...
> 
> Thank you for everyone who has reviewed, boomarked, left kudos, etc. I really do appreciate all of the feedback you guys give me, and would love to hear it for this chapter. 
> 
> Mon chaton - my kitty 
> 
> Pic time! 
> 
> Sharon receiving her mission:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/40087125205/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> The Majorca estate:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/40087125465/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/40087125345/in/dateposted-public/)   
> 
> 
>  Sharon's party attire:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/39171520940/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/40087125145/in/dateposted-public/)   
> 
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/40087125085/in/dateposted-public/)   
> 
> 
> Josephina Vermis:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/39171520890/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> The Pininfarina Sergio:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/40087125235/in/dateposted-public/)


	16. This Is What I Live For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Loser also has to buy the winner’s drinks for the evening,” she added on an extra condition.
> 
> “That goes without saying. So, deal?” Greer held out her hand as Sharon eyed it for a moment before reaching out and shaking it firmly.
> 
> “Deal.”
> 
> “No one ever makes bets with me.” Izzy murmured mournfully.

**_July 12 th, 2014_ **

**_The Vosges, France_ **

****

“I have visuals on the safe house. Repeat, I have visuals on the safe house.”

 _“Roger that, Agent Carter. Visuals locked. Ready at your go ahead.”_ Captain Patel’s voice buzzed through Sharon’s earpiece. Patel and his team from the Special Activities Division (SAD) were assisting her, Greer and Izzy on their little operation.

The group of ten CIA operatives was hidden in a dense thicket of trees as shattered beams of sunlight filtered in from above. It was a bright, pleasant summer day in the lush, rolling mountains of the Vosges. Birds chirped carefree as they afternoon waned on, not yet knowing what hell was about to be brought down upon them. They were located several miles outside the idyllic commune of Orbey.

Several hundred feet in front of them was a deceptively beautiful farmhouse. It was three stories, made entirely of wood with an old fashioned thatched roof. From the outside, it seemed a mountainside haven filled with nothing but peace and tranquility. No one would ever believe a monster resided there, hiding away from the world.

But Sharon knew better.

The coordinates she had found on Josephina Vermis’ computer had led them here.

To Count Vermis’ location.

“Thermal scans,” she briskly ordered as Greer handed the tablet over wordlessly. Sharon glanced down, her eyes quickly cataloging the data of moving bodies within the farmhouse.

“Alright, listen up,” Sharon directed to the motley group of burly men who had seen more war and atrocities than she could ever imagine. Luckily for her, their guns were aimed for the Count and his Hydra cronies. They also knew how to take direction and didn’t seem to care that Sharon was lacking a Y-chromosome. It was refreshing to give directions and have them followed implicitly.

“We’re dealing with more than 20 hostiles. Now, if I was a betting girl, I would say the Count is located right about… _here.”_

She pointed to the third story where a lone heat signature was sequestered in the northwest quadrant of the estate. Several more bodies seemed to be guarding the lone figure.

“We need to get to the Count and subdue him before things get ugly, taking out hostiles along the way. I cannot stress this enough, but the Count _must_ be taken alive. Any questions?”

Silence reigned.

“Alright, Alpha Team with me. Greer, you’re on my six. Captain Patel and Bravo will flank us after we breach the premises. Copy, Captain?”

_“Copy that.”_

“We’re in and out, tag and bag ‘em. Understood?”

A series of acquiescing grunts rose up. Sharon nodded once as her eyes darted across the group of hardened soldiers before landing on the runt of the liter.

“Izzy,” she sighed exasperatedly as she watched the lanky man struggled with his Kevlar vest. His head shot up, glasses slipping down his nose as he stared comically at her. “Try not to die.”

Her coworker only held up his hands as he muttered underneath his breath, “No promises.”

The blonde couldn’t help but roll her eyes as she dismissed the black-op group for their final preparations. She was snuggly attired in her own bulletproof vest as she bent down to strap a thigh holster to her jean -lad legs. She didn’t look up as Greer sidled up to her, knocking shoulders amicably.

“Ah,” her cousin cheerfully exclaimed as she overlooked their impending target. “Don’t you just love a good ambush?”

Sharon snorted as she pocketed a few smoke grenades. “I’ll be happy when the mission is completed.”

“Ah, c’mon,” Greer nudged her conspiratorially. “No need to be so formal. You can be honest with me, you’re chomping at the bits. And you know why?”

Sharon huffed out a breath as she turned, regarding her cousin fully. “Yeah?” she drawled nonchalantly. “Why’s that?”

Greer’s eyes gleamed as she leaned in. “Because you’re getting back in the game. You’re getting your mojo back.”

Sharon remained thoroughly unimpressed as she stared at her fellow blonde. “Alright, Greer. Whatever you say.”

“Hey, don’t argue with me,” Greer countered with a finger wag. “And no need to hide it. It’s a beautiful thing, getting back into the field. Run with it.”

Poetics aside, Greer wasn’t entirely wrong. A thrum of excitement had been running through Sharon’s body all morning at the prospect of returning to what she did best: being a phenomenal spy who got the job done.

She was thrilled to be back in the thick of things, but that didn’t mean Greer had to know that.

“Focus,” she instructed her cousin. “Keep your eye on the prize.”

Greer’s mouth upturned into an impish smirk. “Bet you $100 I get to the Count before you do.”

Sharon’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she contemplated the idea. A little friendly competition never hurt anyone.

“Loser also has to buy the winner’s drinks for the evening,” she added on an extra condition.

“That goes without saying. So, deal?” Greer held out her hand as Sharon eyed it for a moment before reaching out and shaking it firmly.

“Deal.”

“No one ever makes bets with me,” Izzy murmured mournfully to himself as the two women shared amused glances, biting their lips to halt their laughter. Sharon held tightly onto her pistol as she undid the safety.

“Move out, team.”

The group went silent as they moved through the underbrush and emerged into the sunlight. The soldiers silently fanned out as they quickly crept up to the farmhouse. Sharon had both hands wrapped around her gun as they came upon the front entrance, a simple door. She folded against the house on the right side of the door as two soldiers walked up to it, battering ram in hand.

Sharon held up her hand, wordlessly counting down from three. At one the metal ram crashed into the door as wood went splintering everywhere. With another mighty slam, the door caved in, collapsing with an echoing thud.

Sharon didn’t flinch as gunfire immediately rained down upon them from inside. The window she was standing next to was completely shot through as glass went flying. She remained calm as the bullets momentarily ceased. Acting quickly she motioned to the SAD soldier across from her. He quickly tossed in two live grenades through the open doorway.

_Boom. Boom._

A muffled scream came through the entrance before being cut off. Silence followed as black smoke poured out of the ruined windows. With another hand motion, the black ops group was charging in, Sharon, Greer, and Izzy bringing up the rear.   

Through the filtering smog, it was chaos. Hydra against the CIA.

The SAD soldiers did what they did best, take out hostiles. Sharon worked her way through the pandemonium, keeping her head down as bullets ricocheted everywhere, embedding into wood and stone alike as men dropped to the ground, dead and dying.

Sharon remained stalwart as she waded through the disarray. She had her mission: obtaining the Count.

She got to the staircase and hurried up, remaining pressed against the wall as she stayed out of eyeshot. She left the second floor to Captain Patel and his team who had shot their way in through the other side of the house. With a nod of her head, she was creeping up to the third floor where their elusive Count was waiting for her.

As she reached the head of the stairs, eerie silence consumed her. Below she could still hear the faint sounds of fighting. Her breath was loud as she slowly stepped forward, down the long hallway to the Count’s last known location, passing an open doorway.

She stepped carefully, mindful of the creaking wooden floor beneath her boots. She was taking one step forward when the floor shifted beneath her, moaning audibly. Sharon immediately froze, so silent one could hear a pin drop.

On the other side of the wall, she could hear movement. She dropped immediately as a hellfire of bullets came ripping through the other side of the wall, tearing apart plaster. The sound of gunfire grew so cacophonous that it left her ears ringing. She army crawled back towards the stairs, head ducked down as the shooting continued.

Finally, it halted.

She was quick to get to her feet as she pressed herself back against the bullet-ridden wall, near the door, waiting to see what would emerge.

The barrel of a gun appeared.

Moving quickly, she reached out, pushing the gun down as it went off. A bullet buried itself into the wooden floor. She saw a head of a Hydra goon appear and she was quick to deliver a brutal elbow strike that had his head reeling back. Hand still on his gun, she went down to her knees, flipping the man over her shoulder as he landed hard, sprawled out in the hallway.

She raised her gun, shooting two men easily, leaving three others. She pressed down on the trigger but it clicked uselessly, chamber empty.

She’d have to do this the old fashioned way.

She jumped to her feet and charged.

With the first goon, she smacked the gun out of his grip as her hands fisted his jacket and she used all of her weight to toss him aside. As Goon 2 came at her, she raised her foot and delivered a hard kick that sent him stumbling back.

Turning smoothly on her heel, she raised her fists just as Goon 3 came at swinging at her. She blocked two vicious blows to her head before striking out and landing a powerful jab to his face. His head flew back as he crumbled to the ground.

From behind, two grubby hands grabbed her shoulders. As fluid as a dancer, she was spinning around, dislodging the hold on her upper body. She punched Goon 1’s ribs, feeling them groan beneath the abuse. She slapped away his hands before bringing her elbow and landing a blow right across his jaw. He fell back, eyes rolling into the back of his head.

She turned just as #3 came running back her way. She got dirty as she aimed a ferocious kick to his family jewels. He let out a guttural cry, leaning forward in agony. She brought her hands to the back of his neck and forced his head down as she brought her knee up to collide with his forehead. She shoved him back as he collapsed mercilessly.

That left her with Goon 1.

He came with a flying fist. She caught his arm, changing the trajectory of his blow that left him open to her own assault. She struck out with an effective throat punch that had him wheezing for breath. Grabbing onto the collar of his jacket, she held him in place as she brought up her leg for a hard roundhouse kick.

The goon sputtered before dropped to the ground with a resounding thump. Sharon breathed in deeply as she scooped up a stray pistol. She checked the chamber as she moved to the doorway. She froze as she heard murmured words in French from outside the hallway that most definitely didn’t sound like the SAD contingent she was currently with.

She stayed out of sight as she peeked out and saw two more cronies creeping up the stairs. They immediately locked eyes with her. She raised her hand, shooting first, but missed as they ducked. As the first one came closer she realized that this encounter would not be fun or quick.

She blitzed out of the doorway and into the hallway. She shot her pistol, nicking the man in the side as vibrant blood sputtered out. She kept hold of him as she threw him into the wall behind them.

She kept hold of the arm that was holding his gun as he knocked hers astray. He shot it off, the bullet landing down the hallway. She twisted down his arm before smacking her elbow across his face. As she did this she expertly swiped his gun, leaving him defenseless against her.

She was only a second too slow to bring it up and shoot him in the face.

He forced her hands down before sending a harsh cross punch her way. Pain erupted across her cheek as she went twirling back. She stumbled into the intricately carved wooden banister with a groan. She held onto it for support as her head spun dizzyingly. Shaking her head, she pushed herself off as she turned and rammed into her assailant. She kept her hands on his shoulders as she shoved him back, pinning him to the wall at the top of the stairs.

She smacked him across the face as she held him up to the wall, knee raising to strike against his side, getting him in the ribs. He cried out before lunging back against her. He pushed her back, unrelenting blows raining down upon her head. She kept her arms up to protect herself as she careened into the wall.

Wrapping her arms around his neck she used all her weight to force him to the ground with a hard, twisting flip. He landed with a howl before striking out with his gun, clubbing her against her head. She fell to her knees, stars erupting across her vision. Both struggled to their feet, but Sharon got there only a moment quicker. She pushed against him, punching at his thigh as he took a step back.

She punched quickly, forcing the thug closer and closer to the downward leading stairs. When he was at the precipice of them, she shoved him back, brought her foot up for a high kick. She jolted his torso and he went flying back, arms grabbing frantically through thin air. She watched with satisfaction as he rolled down the stairs, landing at the bottom in a graceless heap.

She didn’t even have a moment to catch her breath as his comrade, who had wisely stayed out of the way on the landing as she fought, now stepped up to take his turn with her. Her heart dropped as he pulled his hand out from behind him, switchblade in hand. The knife gleamed as he held it out threateningly towards her.

She remained on the balls of her feet, ready to move at a second’s notice if he came at her. She tried anticipating his movements. It didn’t take long for him to come slashing wildly at her. She danced back, avoiding his deadly attempts by only centimeters.

With one flaying attempt, she reached out, both hands wrapping around his. Still holding on, she dropped into a crouch on the floor. She rolled across the ground, rotating his arm along with her. He fell back and dropped the knife along the way. She landed on her knees, swiping up the fallen weapon. The thug was sprawled across the floor, reaching for the banister to support him as he attempted to get to his feet.

She didn’t give him the opportunity.

Raising the knife she drove it determinedly into his back. He howled in agony as she stabbed. She did it again, impaling lower down his spine. He was able to get to feet as she arched her arm up, slicing the knife against his thigh. Before he could blink, she was standing and driving the knife into his neck, into the thicket of tendons and muscles. Blood immediately came flowing out of the wound, staining her hand red.

She raised her hand once again and savagely brought it down to his chest. The knife embedded easily into his skin. He screamed but still had some fight in him as his shaking hands wrapped around hers. He used one hand to push against her face.

It was a war of strength as he continued jerking her head back as she struggled to keep a hold of the knife still buried in his torso. She finally conceded defeat of the weapon as she danced back. He struggled forward, hand wrapped around the hilt of the switchblade. His shirt was stained with blood that was steadily seeping out of his various wounds. He was breathing heavily, like a dying animal that didn’t know the end was near.

She kept her hands up defensively as he pulled the knife out. He sluggishly came at her, weakly waving the knife through the air. She grabbed hold of his arm and used his own arm against him to drive the knife back into his neck. She struck his arm, pushing the knife in deeper as he gave a pathetic whimper. She dropped to her knees and flipped him over her shoulder as he went rolling down the stairs. She watched as he smacked against every step before landing next to his partner, his body bent in a grotesquely unnatural way as blood pooled beneath him.

Sharon remained on her knees, blood and sweat clinging to her as she struggled to draw in a breath, the pain of her encounter now finally sinking in as the adrenaline fizzled out. She bowed her head, hair covering her face, before spitting out blood as she looked down at her trembling hands.

The world around her, which had been operating in sickening slow motion, slammed back into overdrive as the sound of battle downstairs echoed throughout her ears. Sucking in a fortifying breath, Sharon wearily pushed herself to her feet, ignoring how wobbly her legs were. She staggered forward, picking up a stray gun along the way as she inched down the hallway.

She came to a stop outside a sophisticatedly carved door depicting the image of a great tree, its branches reaching up yearningly towards the sky. Hardening herself for the task at hand, she brutally kicked down the door as it went flying back, banging into the wall beside it. She marched into a plush study with fine wooden furnishings and book after book lining shelves.

In the center of the room stood a great window that provided panoramic views of the gentle green mountains outside. Standing before the window, back to her, was an older man. He stood with perfect posture, shoulders back and head proudly held high, even in the face of imminent defeat.

“I presume,” the voice that addressed her was as smooth and rich as honey. “That you are here for me?”

He continued looking out the window, not giving a care to the fact that a CIA agent was in his presence with a gun in her hand. Sharon raised the pistol, aiming it for the back of his head as she addressed him in a controlled manner.

“Count Otto Vermis,” her hand didn’t shake as she held the gun so tightly her knuckles were turning white. “You’re hereby under arrest by the order of the United States’ government for your crimes against humanity. Come quietly and we’ll have no problems.”

The nobleman chuckled and finally turned, his burning blue eyes locking onto hers. He seemed thoroughly impervious to her presence in his room.

“Take me in?” he murmured with an arched eyebrow. “I am not going anywhere.”

Sharon’s eyes narrowed. “Well you’re not staying here.”

He chuckled again and even his laughter was arrogant. His gaze was cool as he proclaimed, _“Mors mihi lucrum.”_

Sharon’s patience was fraying the longer they played this little game of cat and mouse. She just wanted to be finished with it. “I’m afraid death’s going to have to wait. I’m taking you in, Count.”

His eyes gleamed and Sharon’s stomach dropped. She watched with horror as he opened his mouth, preparing to bite down hard. Without thinking she sprinted forward, crashing into him with a rough rugby tackle. Both hit the floor, Sharon sprawled across the Hydra head. She straddled him, hands immediately going to his mouth as she attempted prying it open, anything to stop him from biting down.

He struggled against her, gurgling madly as she pinned him. She finally forced his lips apart and peeked in, immediately catching sight of a false molar near the back of his mouth. She reached in and unkindly ripped it out of the gums, ignoring the Count’s squawk of pain. She held up the false tooth to the light, seeing what was contained within.

“Cyanide pill?” she mused with a disappointed click of her tongue as she looked down at her captive. “That’s so World War II.”

She tossed the tooth away and forced the Count to his feet as she handcuffed his hands behind him.

“I have the Count,” she announced to her earpiece as she shoved the man forward. “How we looking downstairs?”

 _“The premise is secure, all hostiles have been accounted for,”_ Captain Patel replied. Sharon smirked as she continued prodding the Count through the wreckage of what had once been his safe house.

“Just what I love to hear. Hope you enjoy prison, Count. It’s where you’ll be for the foreseeable future.”

Everything after that moved by in a fast-paced blur. The CIA descended upon the farmhouse, removing technology and weapons alike. The Count was quickly taken into custody by a pair of suits.

Sharon was standing on the sidelines, observing the cleanup when a recognizable voice cut through the commotion.

“Papa!?! Papa!”

Sharon turned to see Josephina Vermis, who had just pulled up in a car, standing amongst the clutter staring at all of them with wide, panicked eyes. A sliver of guilt settled low in Sharon’s stomach but she ruthlessly stomped it out. There was no time for weakness or compassion in a situation such as this.

“Where is my father?” Josephina demanded of the nearest CIA operative. Sharon sighed as she stepped forward. Josephina immediately saw her and a plethora of expression crossed her stunning face before she finally settled on irrevocable fury.

“You,” she hissed with the anger of a thousand suns as she began pushing her way through the crowd towards Sharon.

_“Chienne! Tu mens la putain! Putain de con! Je te tuerai!”_

She was only stopped from assaulting Sharon as two SAD soldiers held her back. She continued screaming, eyes maniac, as she hurled abuse after abuse at the blonde. Sharon remained stoic in the face of such accursed words. When the heiress finally paused for breath her face was entirely red and her eyes were consumed with hatred.

"This is not over, _mon chaton,"_   she said with a dreadful sense of finality as she glowered at the blonde spy. 

“Take her,” Sharon addressed the soldiers holding the woman back. She didn’t even flinch when as Josephina was being tugged away, she spat directly in Sharon’s face. The glob of spit smacked her cheek. Sharon only watched as the woman was escorted away still spewing obscenities in a multitude of languages.

“Whoa,” Greer whistled as she materialized at Sharon’s side. “Heavy stuff.”

“Yeah,” Sharon idly agreed as she wiped away the spit with the sleeve of her jacket. Her nose crinkled at the sight of it.

“Well, bat-shit crazy lady aside, good job, cuz!” Greer slapped her back affably and Sharon forced herself not to cringe. “A great welcome back to the field.”

Sharon’s mouth tugged up into a little grin as she eyed her cousin. “Just remember who won our little bet. One hundred dollars and drinks. I’m feeling up for some beer.”

Greer chuckled as she walked back into the thicket of everything. Sharon reveled in finally being alone as her brown eyes darted across the scene. All of this, storming in head first, fighting through battle, it had felt like slipping into a pair of old pants: familiar but still new at the same time.

This wasn’t SHIELD. Steve and Natasha weren’t here.

But she was still the same. She was still a kickass agent who got the job done.

Planting her hands on her hips she couldn’t help the breathless laughter that escaped her as joy surged throughout her tired and bruised body.

“Yeah,” she whispered excitedly to herself. “I’m back.”

 

+++

 

“Another!”

Greer jubilantly called out as the three downed their shots. The alcohol burned deliciously as it swished down Sharon’s throat. She slammed her shot glass down as her stomach grew warm from the alcohol. In front of her was still her second glass of beer awaiting her to drink it.

They were staying the night in the picturesque town of Colmar. They were in a dimly lit bar that had been standing for more than 100 years. Its walls were made of ancient stone with a dazzlingly display of knick-knacks covering its walls.

Sharon, Greer, and Izzy were sitting a scruffy wooden table with numerous nicks and scratches embedded into the wood. Glasses covered the rickety table as they drank merrily. French conversation among the locals carried across the establishment. In the corner of the bar, a fiddler was cheerfully playing some folk music, adding a liveliness to the relaxed atmosphere. People were playing cards, smoking and throwing darts all around them.

Sharon’s foot was absentmindedly tapping along to the violin as she sipped her beer. It left a pleasant tang on the tip of her tongue as it went down. She and Greer were still going strong in their old game of always having to outdo one another. Carters were competitive that way, especially when it came to drinking. Izzy was lying with his head smashed against the table, his glasses crooked on his long nose. He would occasionally raise his head to mutter out whatever flash of brilliance had come to his muddled mind before thumping his head back down.

A black eye was already beginning to develop across Sharon’s cheekbone and her ribs protested every time she laughed or moved suddenly. But even with those minor setbacks, she felt good, better than good, she felt fantastic.

She was out from under Bridge’s tyrannical thumb and out in the world doing the thing she had always wanted to do: make a difference. This was what she was meant for, what she was best at. It was exhilarating to be back in the field. It felt like she finally knew who she was again. The revelation of SHIELD/Hydra had shaken her far worse than she could have ever guessed. She had been questioning herself ever since, letting darkness cloud her judgment.

But out in the field, all the doubts and insecurities had melted away. She had just acted, going off instinct and gut feeling alone. She was herself again.

She may no longer be Agent 13, but she was just as competent as Agent Carter.

Somewhere along the way she had forgotten that. She wouldn’t do so again.

“To a successful mission,” she loudly declared as she held up her glass. She clinked it against Greer’s who crowed in agreement. Izzy only groaned as he began quoting _Breaking Bad_ to himself.

Sharon only cooed as she pet his hair. Their celebrations were interrupted as Sharon’s phone began ringing. She sloppily pulled it out of her jean pocket, expression brightening up instantly when she saw who was calling.

“Who’s calling you?” Greer inquired from across the table. Even Izzy was blinking at her, momentarily risen from the dead.

Sharon could only grin as she continued looking down at the screen. “It’s Steve.”

“Steve?” Izzy asked, head lulling crazily. “Steve who?”

Greer only rolled her eyes as she smacked the back of his head. “Steve Rogers, idiot.”

Izzy’s dark eyes widened comically as he gaped at Sharon. “Captain America’s calling you?!? Lucky.”

Sharon only stood, leaving her jacket hanging off the back of her chair, as she tossed her hair over her shoulder and meandered through the bar. She landed outside on a cobbled street overlooking one of the canals weaving itself through La Petite Venise. It was a delightfully cool night, the air light and breezy, streetlamps twinkling in the darkening evening. Down the way, a street performer was strumming his guitar as a crowd respectfully watched.

Sharon still had a peaceful smile on her face as she brought the phone up to her ear. “Hey, stranger.”

 _“Sharon,”_ Steve’s voice echoed amicably in her ear. _“Is this a good time?”_

“It’s an excellent time,” she told him as she began strolling down the cobbled street, the trickle of water following her as she walked by the canal. Colmar seemed straight out of a fairytale with its colorful buildings of pink, blue and yellow. It was unlike anything she had ever seen before.

 _“You sound cheerful,”_ Steve remarked, a slight twinge of confusion evident in his tone.

“I’m not just cheerful,” she told him with a sweep of her arm, the buzz of the liquor still filling her head. “I’m downright euphoric.”

Steve hesitated before finally chiming in. _“…okay. That’s…good?”_

Sharon couldn’t help but snort. “It’s great. I feel amazing. And you want to know why?”

_“Not gonna lie, I’m slightly hesitant, but shoot, tell me anyway.”_

“Cause I just completed my first field mission for the CIA!” she cheered but instantly lowered her voice when she remembered that she was walking among civilians.

 _“Sharon,”_ Steve’s voice instantly lifted. _“That’s great. Congratulations.”_

“Thank you,” she responded sincerely, still feeling light and loose. “You should have seen it, Steve. I was all kinds of awesome. I’d tell you about it, but it’s classified.”

 _“Understood.”_ Steve was amusingly placating her, but she didn’t care. She knew how awesome she was. She didn’t need any man affirming it. Though if Steve did she wouldn’t turn it away. He was Captain America, for crying out loud. His word was practically law.

 _“You in DC?”_ he curiously inquired. She shook her head before realizing that he couldn’t see her actions.

“France.”

 _“Ah,”_ he murmured, _“Look at that, I’m in Germany. Bonjour.”_

 _“Hallo,”_ Sharon echoed back without missing a beat. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

She grinned as she heard Steve’s chuckle through the phone before he finally answered. _“Lübeck. You?”_

“Colmar,” Sharon answered easily. “Hey, look at that. This is the first time in months we’ve been on the same continent.”

Steve laughed again. _“It has been a while, hasn’t it?”_

Sharon’s smile remained on her face as she asked, “How’s it going? Any luck on your quest?”

The slow pause was enough to tell her that no, Steve and Sam were not making progress in their eternal quest to bring in Barnes out from the cold.

“Ah,” she huffed out an apologetic huff. “I’m sorry, Steve.”

 _“Don’t be,”_ he reassured her, but she knew without seeing that his face was wearing that pinched look whenever he was forcing himself to be brave against seemingly impossible odds. _“I should have expected this. He is a ghost, after all.”_

“Yeah,” she mused softly as she crossed one of Colmar’s many bridges over the water, enjoying the view of the town in the dusky night. “Still sucks though.”

 _“Yeah,”_ Steve quietly acquiesced. _“It really does.”_

“Tell me about it,” she said without thinking, blinking rapidly. But she didn’t take back the words. Her two years as Steve’s partner had shown that the man bottled up his emotions to an almost alarmingly absurd degree. If he didn’t share how he was feeling, she worried he’d explode under the pressure. Sure, he had Sam to help him out, but she was there for him as well.

 _“Oh no,”_ he interjected quickly. _“I wouldn’t want to bother you.”_

“Steve,” Sharon drawled with a roll of her eyes as she leaned against the railing. “Your feelings are never a burden. C’mon, talk to me.”

It was silent over the line. She couldn’t help but bite her lip as she awaited his response. Maybe this had been a bad idea. Maybe she had pushed too much too fast. There were still new at this whole friendship thing, still figuring each other out.

Finally, he spoke. _“…you sure?”_

Sharon sighed in relief as she nodded her head. “Yeah, of course.”

_“Okay…”_

And as night eased into the French town Sharon and Steve chatted away.

 

* * *

 

 

**_July 15 th, 2014_ **

**_Langley, VA_ **

****

Sharon couldn’t help but have a bounce to her step as she sauntered through the offices of Langley. Held securely in her grip was her mission report, the holy grail of a job well done. Count Vermis was facing trial in The Hague and looking at several lifetimes behind bars where he could never hurt anyone ever again.  

Sharon had done that. She had brought him in. She had taken down a Hydra thug.

What a way to earn her wings at the CIA.

And now she was ready for whatever else Bridge was prepared to throw her way. He may not like her, but he’d have to respect her after her handiwork in both Majorca and France.

She bounded quickly to his office, restraining herself from barging straight in. Composing herself she knocked firmly on his closed door and waited for his grunted response. Gaining access, she swung the door open and stepped into his glass office.

The man in question was seated at his desk, suit jacket off and the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up to his elbows.

“Yeah?” he barked out, not even glancing up at her as she walked up to his crowded desk.

“Mission report, sir,” she primly declared, handing the folder over. Bridge’s eyes tightened as he looked from her to the outstretched folder. He took it with an annoyed grunt before dropping it ceremoniously onto his desk, eyes sweeping past it.

“Thank you, agent.”

His gaze went back to his computer as he began loudly clacking the keys. Sharon stood there expectedly as she resisted the urge to fidget as he steadfastly ignored her. He finally sighed as he turned to her with steely eyes.

“Yes?”

Sharon tucked a strand of hair behind her ears. “It’s just that…that was my mission report over the capture of Count Vermis.”

“Yes, I know,” he told her, face unreadable as he looked up at her. “I will get to it when I get to it.”

She should let this go. All she needed to do was turn on her heel, walk out that door and let it go. But Sharon had never been good at letting anything go.

“Yes,” she began delicately. “I understand that. In the meantime isn’t there something you’d like to give me?”

Bridge stared at her blankly.

Sharon gulped, internally kicking herself in the rear, but she was already in the hole, might as well keep digging.

“Don’t you have a new mission to give me?”

Bridge’s face constricted as he leaned back into his chair. “What do I look like? A mission ATM? You give me your report and automatically get a new one in return? Is that how you think this works here at the CIA?”

Oh boy.

Working on damage control Sharon was quick to shake her head. “No, sir. That’s not what I meant.”

“And what did you mean?” Bridge retorted with a frown. “And to be frank, Agent Carter, I don’t have much respect for agents who blatantly ignore mission parameters-"

Sharon nearly gasped as she countered back indignantly. “Ignore? I never ignored any mission parameters.”

Bridge snorted derisively as he searched through the numerous papers stretched out across his desk.

“Oh, really? And what’s this then?”

He held up a picture of the stunning Pininfarina Sergio that Sharon had commandeered in Majorca. Sharon deflated as she stared at the image.

“It’s a beautiful car,” Bridge commented idly as he looked at it. “It’s a Ferrari, correct?”

He whistled lowly as he admired the sports car. “Quite a luxurious vehicle. If I’m not mistaken, Agent Cohen was meant to retrieve you from the party, yes? With the car we provided.”

Sharon crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes, but – “

“But what?” Bridge cut in sharply. “But you wanted to drive this instead? Hmm? I wonder, did you know that this Pininfarina Sergio is one of only six cars like it in the world?”

Sharon ignored the erratic beating of her heart as it plowed against her ribcage. If Bridge could sense her distress he ignored it as he continued his dressing down.

“You can imagine that the owner of the car was understandably distraught when he realized it had been stolen from him. Only so many places one can hide a car like that on an island such as Majorca.”

“Sir,” she tried weakly. “Listen, I-"

“No, you listen,” he snapped as he stood, hands slamming onto his desk. Sharon’s mouth clicked shut as she ducked her head. "Your little joyride could have cost us our entire operation. All it took was linking the car back to you and we would have lost the Count forever."

He shook his head, working himself up for an angry blowout. 

“You think the rules don’t apply to you?” he questioned pointedly. “Because you’re from SHIELD? Or because you used to bum around with Captain America? Well, guess what, agent. Rules matter here.”

“I know that, sir,” she said to her shoes as she stared down at them.

Bridge laughed, but there was no joy in it as he stared at her. “Do you, agent? What are we?”

Sharon’s head snapped up as she looked at him with an incredulous expression. “Sir?”

“Tell me,” his arms swept up, gesturing to his office and the bullpen outside it. “What are we?”

Sharon was silent as she swallowed thickly before meeting his gaze. “We’re the CIA, sir.”

“Exactly!” he pointed at her. “We’re the CIA. And you want to know what we’re not?”

Sharon shrugged weakly.

“We’re not SHIELD.” Bridge ignored her flinch at the mention of her former employer. “We’re not flying around in those deathtrap helicarriers thinking that we are above government scrutiny because we have Earth’s mightiest heroes doing our bidding.

“We’re also not the Avengers who think that just because they stopped an alien invasion they are now above the laws of man and can do whatever they want without any forms of repercussion. And now they’re off their leash with the fall of SHIELD, free to do whatever they wish without answering to a higher power. Here, we are accountable for our actions. You will answer to me!”

He was roaring now, face red and nearly frothing at the mouth as he berated the blonde. Sharon felt only two inches tall as she endured the verbal castigation.

Bridge was breathing heavily as he leaned in across his desk. “You play by my rules or you don’t play at all. Is that understood, agent?”

Sharon’s throat was tight as she remained silent.

“I said,” Bridge stressed thinly. “Is that understood?”

Sharon raised her head, refusing to be cowed as she answered through gritted teeth. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Bridge said with a nod of his head, his calm returning as he became his usual, business-like self. “Now get out. You’re on desk duty until told otherwise.”

Sharon didn’t respond as she pivoted and marched out of the glass office. She stalked through the bullpen, blinking rapidly.

Any goodwill she had gained on the mission was completely gone, down the drain. She all but threw herself into her desk chair as she lowered her head, hiding it in her hands.

She forced herself to take in calming breaths.

It took a long time for the world around her to steady.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Sharon. Bridge is just not a big fan of hers, no matter what she does. My big aim with Bridge this chapter was to begin sowing the seeds that we see in CACW involving how the rest of the world views the Avengers. It may seem easy to think that the mistrust began after the events of Sokovia in AOU, but I think it really began with the fall of SHIELD. Suddenly the watchdogs of the Avengers (SHIELD) are revealed to be Hydra and now the Avengers are doing whatever they want, such as going after Hydra, without anyone overseeing them. That would reasonably make the US Government uneasy. I just wanted to begin foreshadowing those such feelings in my story. 
> 
> I had fun referencing CATFA with the cyanide pill in the tooth. When will Hydra ever learn? For the main fight sequence involving Sharon, I was inspired by both Pitch Perfect 3 and Atomic Blonde, which led to an interesting combination. Hopefully it all made sense as a fluid fight scene. 
> 
> Thank you so much for the previous comments. I always enjoy receiving them. You guys' feedback is always very informative and resourceful.
> 
> Translations (from Google)  
> Mors mihi lucrum - Death to me is a reward  
> Chienne! Tu mens la putain! Putain de con! Je te tuerai! - Bitch! You lying whore! You fucking c***! I will kill you!
> 
> Pic time! 
> 
> Sharon fighting Hydra:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/27321990838/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> The Count's safe house:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/27321990828/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Count Otto Vermis:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/27321990948/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Colmar, France:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/27321991018/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Sharon when speaking to Bridge:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/27321990878/in/dateposted-public/)


	17. You're the Last of a Dying Breed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The room was too small, his head was pounding, he was exhausted but he didn’t want to sleep because Riley was always in his dreams. Always falling. And it was always Sam’s fault.
> 
> And he was sick and tired of James Buchanan Barnes.
> 
> Something in him snapped.

**_July 21 st, 2014_ **

**_Prague_ **

****

_Boom. Boom. Boom._

_Echoes of cracking explosions clang throughout Sam’s ears so hard he can hardly think. The air is thick with billowing smoke as Sam shoots through the sky, his metallic wings the only thing keeping him alive as he ducks and weaves through the hellfire that those damned Nazi helicarriers have unleashed on him as missiles chase him._

_Beneath him, the Potomac’s murky waters promise a watery death if he loses his concentration for even a millisecond. If he slips, he’ll be another Icarus flying too close to the sun, plunging to the unforgiving darkness below. The wind is sharp as it slaps his cheeks, the world an eerie red through the lenses of his goggles._

_Still, even with danger apparent at every turn, he feels alive. He’s soaring, high as the falcon these beautiful wings were named for._

_Of course…something always has to trip him up._

_“Hey, Sam, I’m gonna need a ride.”_

_Right. He’s only in this mess because Captain America is his running buddy._

_He pivots through the air, heading to the second helicarrier holding the Avenger, cannons going off throughout his flight path._

_“Roger!” he yells through the comms,.“Let me know when you’re ready.”_

_Suddenly he sees it._

_A red, white and blue blur jumping off the carrier, falling down and down with reckless abandon._

_“I just did!”_

_The bastard._

_Without thinking Sam dives. The wind whistles in a screeching shrill as he swoops down. It seems no matter how fast he plunges, he can’t catch up the Steve. Further and further they tailspin out of control._

_He just needs to grab Steve’s hand…everything will be alright if he can just grab his hand._

_“Steve!” his scream is lost to the wind as a chill sweeps up his spine. And right before his eyes, Steve…begins to change. The shield and patriotic colors fade and morph into something new…no, not new, they change into a familiar sight that Sam sees every night in his sleep._

_The same Falcon uniform as the very one he’s wearing. Tawny hair, round cheeks, unsuspecting green eyes staring up at him in horror as he continues dropping._

_Sam will catch him. He knows he can._

_But the Potomac is growing closer and closer. Sam can only watch as his friend falls, alone and without hope._

_But still, Sam flies after him._

_“RILEY!”_

“Sam.”

A rough shake to the shoulder immediately brought Sam jarringly back into consciousness. His heart was pounding as he sat up straight, adrenaline surging through his body. Turning his head, he could see blue eyes peering at him with concern. Steve’s warm hand was still gripping his shoulder as he leaned in toward his friend.

“You okay?”

Sam glanced around, quickly taking note of their surroundings. They were on a busy train, passengers all around them speaking conversationally to each other in a multitude of European languages. They had boarded the train in Berlin and it was carrying them to Prague for another pointless mission to locate Barnes and bring him in from the cold.

Sam was next to the window, the last thing he remembered was nodding off some time as they swept through the countryside, the Elbe River running alongside them. Sam – long ago disillusioned with the beauty of Europe – had only stubbornly clamped his eyes shut in a vain attempt to chase away the headache that had been working its way across his skull.

It was still there, now a full-blown migraine as it pounded behind his eyes at a relentless pace, hurting so badly he wanted to bite down, grind his teeth together, anything to distract him from the pain.

Anything was better than the worry flashing through Steve’s expressive eyes.   

“Yeah, man,” he muttered, shaking off Steve’s hand. “I’m fine.”

Steve, for his part, only raised a suspicious brow in return as he continued staring at the VA counselor. “You sure?” he persisted earnestly, his ‘fixer’ face firmly set.

“I’m sure,” Sam snapped like a rubber band, leaving a visible welt as Steve flinched, shifting back into his seat, retreating into himself as his broad shoulders drooped dejectedly.

“Okay,” he said after a long, tense moment between the two. “Just a heads up, we’ll be entering Prague soon.”

“Whatever,” Sam grouched as he slumped down listlessly into his seat. He shrugged his baseball cap down further, covering his eyes, blocking Steve out, both literally and figuratively. He leaned his head against the window, the coolness a temporary balm to his headache as he dispassionately watched the landscape past them by.

Soon enough, just as Steve had said, the rural communities transformed into the fantastical city of Prague. Sam remained silent as the train pulled into the Praha, and even more silent as they stood and collected their meager luggage, ambling off the train to the platform.

Sam looked up at the glass ceiling as rain spattered against it, selectively ignoring the look Steve shot him. He heard, rather than saw, the sigh that came out of the super-soldier before Steve began walking forward, mumbling something about finding the nearest car rental. Sam slowly followed behind, duffle bag hanging off his shoulder.

He kept his distance as Steve – in perfect Czech because _of course_ he spoke Czech fluently – secured them an SUV. When the blond had keys in hand and led them to a nondescript European SUV, Sam just threw his luggage in the trunk before going to sit in the passenger seat. He was already buckled up with body angled towards the window as Steve slipped in, igniting the engine. With a click of his seat belt and the shift of gears, the two were off.  

“You know where you’re going?” Sam asked after several strained minutes of quiet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Steve nod in the affirmative.

“Been here before, during the War,” he remarked offhandedly. “Bucky and I were on a secret mission for the SSR.”

Sam couldn’t help but visibly sneer as he shook his head. “Of course you were.”

Steve’s lips thinned and his grip on the steering wheel grew a shade tighter but Sam didn’t care as he redirected his gaze out the window. It was a somber, dismal day with grey clouds covering the sky. A steady trickle of rain was falling down upon them, transforming the city into a dingy, dirty facsimile of itself.

The ancient sights and architecture had no effect on Sam’s increasingly bad mood as Steve expertly maneuvered the automobile through the dense streets. Outside citizens and tourists alike were darting through puddles, brightly colored umbrellas protecting them. Soon enough Steve was pulling up to the little motel they’d be staying in, located in Old Town.

It wasn’t much to look at, Sam noted as he climbed out of the SUV, collecting his belongings. Once again Steve took the lead in getting them a bedroom. They squished into a tiny, cramped elevator that could barely support the two when pressed shoulder to shoulder. It groaned as it carried the pair up to the third floor. When it came to a stop and the door creakily slid open, Sam all but forced himself out of the claustrophobic space. He pretended to ignore Steve’s quizzical glance and just gestured for the captain to walk ahead.

They entered their shared room and Sam’s mood dipped even more at how sparse their new surroundings were. It had two single beds, peeling walls, plush carpet straight out of the 60s and only a single window overlooking a questionable alleyway.

Luxurious, it was not.

Steve, the optimist, kept his face perfectly blank as he surveyed their new home for however long they’d be here. He placed his hands on his hips as he cocked his head towards Sam.

“It’s not bad,” Sam kept his eye roll minimal as the super-soldier continued chatting. “Which bed do you want?”

“Man,” he sighed as the headache continued pounding. “I don’t care.”

Steve’s earnest eyes won out as Sam audibly groaned and chucked his duffle bag on the bed nearest to the tiny bathroom.

“Ugh, this is fine.” He dropped down heavily onto the sagging mattress and brought a hand to cover his eyes. He heard as Steve settled down on his own bed. He looked two sizes too big for the meager frame but kept himself small as he rifled through a backpack, pulling out a sleek Stark laptop. He turned it on, no doubt looking into the Intel Maria had passed along their way last week while in Lübeck.

The clicking of keys on the keyboard grated on Sam’s nerves as he remained resolutely turned away from his friend. He buried his face into the stale pillowcase and drifted into some semblance of a nap. He remained the way, even when Steve quietly offered to grab them some food from a restaurant down the street.

He returned later with bags of takeout. Sam halfheartedly sat up, eating only about half of its contents before laying back down as day turned into night.

“It’s getting late,” Steve noted as he glanced out the window. “You ready to go?”

Sam only grunted as he pushed himself up and strolled into the narrow bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He relieved himself, washed his hands and splashed water across his face. He blinked as droplets dripped off his chin. His eyes were red and puffy, even with all the sleep he had. He looked downright miserable as he took in his glum reflection. He agitatedly flicked some water at the mirror before standing up straight, cracking his neck soundly.

He wandered back into the bedroom to see Steve pulling out his shield, the red, white and blue gleaming in the fluorescent lights of the room. Sam stopped at the foot of his bed and unzipped the duffle bag to reveal a variety of guns, magazines, and clips. He loaded up, tucking a pistol into the waistband of his jeans and hiding a knife into his jacket pocket. Several more weapons and ammunition was hidden on his person.

“Let’s get this shit show on the road,” he said when he was finished. He walked out of the room before Steve could answer.

As they walked outside the motel Sam noted that the rain must have let up hours ago. Puddles were still pooling together and the air was thick with the smell of soggy trash. That combined with the greasy takeout he had nibbled at earlier, caused a wave of nausea to sweep through the VA counselor.

He swallowed down bile as he stomped to the SUV, slipping in easily. He kept his eyes trained out the window as Steve drove them through the city, flashing lights twinkling at them. They drove beyond the city borders, coming to the fringes of the metropolitan. Buildings faded away to woodlands as the car lights directed them forward. Eventually, the SUV came to a stop outside a rundown factory. Sam peered at it suspiciously as he glanced over at the blond.

“You sure this is the place?”

Steve was also staring at the decrepit shop, grim determination etched into the lines of his face. He looked like one of those Roman statues of a soldier preparing for war. But that’s what Steve was, wasn’t he? He was a soldier on a mission. And this time around his mission was Bucky Barnes, best friend extraordinaire.

It wasn’t like Sam was right there…

He squashed down the thought as Steve nodded once. “This was the coordinates in the file Maria sent me.”

“Well,” Sam mused with a deep breath. “Let’s do this.”

The two quietly crept out of the vehicle. Steve had the shield hanging off his arm and Sam had a pistol in hand as they walked up to a padlocked iron door. With a mighty clang, Steve brought the shield down upon the lock as it easily shattered. Using all his enhanced strength, he pushed the door open, it creaking all the while pitifully.

It was dark as the two edged in, staying in the shadows. The factory looked like it had once been a forgery, a long time ago. Now all that remained was rusted ruins, shattered windows, crumbled concrete as roots and weeds pushed up through it. A mouse skittered past the two men, slinking away into the darkness.

It was empty.

Unlike the other two Hydra bases, they had last come upon it looked like this one had been voluntarily evacuated. There were no bodies or visible signs of carnage, typical hallmarks of Barnes’ rage.

Papers and files were scattered everywhere, a tell-tale sign that whatever Hydra goons had been here, they had left in a hurry. Like rats trying to outrun a sinking ship.

“Whatever happened here,” Sam said as he held his flashlight. “I don’t think Barnes had anything to do with it.”

Steve frowned but continued striding forward. “Let’s double check. We might find something that could help us.”

He kept going, leaving only Sam with a sizeable rat staring at him with its beady eyes.

“Right,” Sam muttered as he took off after his friend. They fanned out through the factory, finding more than was already there. Things changed when they stepped into a large back room that was used for storage of something in the like.

On one far wall was row after row of computers. On the other wall was a wide array of medical equipment.

In the middle was the chair.

Sam’s eyes darted to Steve. The man had frozen at the sight of the contraption that had been all over the file Sharon had given him months ago at Arlington before they had begun this seemingly unending quest for Barnes.

This chair, like the one in DC, was the way they made Barnes stop being Barnes and allowed for the Winter Soldier to be born.

Two lights were floating above it, a metallic halo encircled the chair, delivering the electric shocks necessary to erase one’s memory. Two arm clamps were opened where someone’s wrists would rest, containing both flesh and metal in Barnes’ case. Wiring and machinery surrounded the chair, all the mechanisms for the dastardly act.

Steve stepped forward, face shuttering with rage and grief. He circled the chair, disgust, and hatred clear in his brazen blue eyes.

“Steve-"

With a pained growl, Steve lashed out, fist going for the chair. Sam jumped but remained in his spot as Steve continued pummeling the contraption. The only sounds were the broken cries of metal as Steve tore the chair apart.

Sam…couldn’t really blame him.

With every punch and kick that Steve unleashed on Hydra, all Sam could feel in his heartbeat was Riley.

Punch.

_Riley._

Punch.

_Riley._

Punch.

_Riley._

Unlike Steve, Sam had never had anything to hit when he lost Riley. He had nothing to destroy or break apart into a hundred pieces, other than his own self-worth. And he had torn that apart more times than he could count.

But unlike Steve, Sam’s anguish and pain hadn’t brought back his best friend. Barnes was out there, somewhere. And Steve was here, looking for him and coming up short every single time.

With a heave, Steve had ripped the remains of the chair off the ground and had thrown it clear across the room. It crashed into the wall, splintering at the seams. Silence fell upon the pair as Steve stood there, breathing heavily with nostrils flared. He stared at the ruins of his anger as despair flashed across his eyes.

“Let’s go,” his voice cracked, but Sam was nice enough to say anything. “There’s nothing here.”

It was quiet between the two as they made their way through the factory and back out to the SUV. No one said a word as Steve drove them back into Prague. It was late at night and hardly a soul was walking the streets.

They entered their room and Sam made a beeline for his bed, plopping down on it gratefully. Steve sat much more gingerly, shield in lap as he stared down at it. Sam knew that look, Steve was getting swept back up in his memories of the ‘good old days’ when he had Peggy Carter on his arm and his best friend wasn’t an amnesiac assassin who had already tried to kill both of them on more than one occasion.

Right. The good old days, his ass.

“You know,” Steve pondered with a slight upturn of his lips as his fingers ran over the shield. “This one time Bucky and I…”

Sam internally groaned. Oh God, not this _again._

Steve got like this, all melancholy and sad as shit when returning from busts. Sam usually humored him because he got it, this _sucked._ If anyone told him months ago he’d be Captain America’s right-hand man and following him across the globe to hunt down the freakin’ Winter Soldier he would have slapped them silly.

But here he was.

And there was nothing funny about it.

Normally, this would be the time Sam would comfort his out of time friend. He’d lay a hand on his shoulder, feed him some bullshit on how they’d just need to be patient, wait Barnes out, let him come to them, blah-blah-blah.

But God dammit, Sam couldn’t do it. Not today. Not after _that_ dream.

The room was too small, his head was pounding, he was exhausted but he didn’t want to sleep because Riley was _always_ in his dreams. Always falling. And it was always Sam’s fault.

And he was sick and tired of James Buchanan Barnes.

Something in him snapped.

“Would you shut up,” Sam scowled as he jumped up from the bed. Steve’s mouth was hanging open and his eyebrows were all the way up to his hairline.

“You think I give a flying fuck about another story about Bucky Barnes?” He wasn’t yelling, but his raised voice was definitely shooting up that way.

“You think I care that he saved your sorry ass from being beaten in every alleyway in Brooklyn? Or that he made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island? Newsflash, Steve: that ride is for children. My niece could ride it and be bored.”

Harsh. But Sam couldn’t find it in himself to stop as he kept unloading on the super-soldier.

“I get it,” Sam swung his arms around as he continued on his tirade. “Bucky Barnes is the best thing since sliced bread. But you know what? I. Don’t. Care.”

His gaze darkened as he couldn’t resist one more stab of the knife. “And if this is what he always had to put up with, then I’m not surprised we haven’t found him. No wonder he’s running away from you. I’d want nothing to do with you either.”

Steve immediately cowered into himself as if Sam had slugged him across his perfect face. His eyes were downcast, shoulders curled up to his ears as he tried to make himself small.

Silence reigned between them.

With a curse, Sam hightailed it out of the shitty little room, slamming the door shut behind him. He stomped down the stairs and threw himself out into the empty streets. Without even thinking he took off, walking forward and forward without paying any attention. The blood was rushing through his ears as his heart beat erratically.

He didn’t know how long he walked, but eventually, he wandered into the Old Town Square. It was lit up beautifully, though its charm was lost on Sam. The red hot anger he had been feeling had faded away, leaving him weary and tired as he walked purposefully through the open space. He came to a stop at the Jan Hus Memorial and stared up at the statue.

He sighed as he looked down at his feet. Alright, that hadn’t been his best move, taking all of his anger out on Steve. But he had been angry. He was _still_ angry.

And now there was no talking to the guy.

Which only left…

He fished out his cellphone and punched in the number. He brought it up to his ear, listening to the ring. When it clicked and he heard a breath he immediately launched into conversation.

“I hate him.”

 _“Wait, what?”_ Sharon’s confused voice echoed in his eardrum. _“Sam?”_

“Yeah,” Sam lowly admitted as he began pacing. “It’s me.”

 _“What’s going on?”_ she questioned, a hint of concern clear in her voice. _“Who do you hate?”_

“Barnes.” Sam spat out the name, a coil of anger striking through him like lightning. It was quiet for a moment on the line.

 _“Ah,”_ Sharon finally breathed out. Sam found himself raising an eyebrow as he looked up at the starless sky.

_“Sam, what’s really going on?”_

“I hate him,” Sam snarled.

 _“I know,”_ she soothed. _“I heard you the first time. The question is why do you hate him? You’ve been looking for him for months. Why do you all of a sudden hate him? What happened?”_

What happened? What _did_ happen?

Sam closed his eyes, the fight leaving his body as he stood alone in the square.

“I hate him,” he got out through bitter gulps as his eyes blinked open. “Because he’s still alive.”

Silence, and then. _"Oh, Sam…”_

“It’s not fair,” he choked out as his grip tightened on the phone. “I lost my best friend, too. He fell, just like Barnes. But I’m not Captain America, so my best friend isn’t coming back from the dead. Riley’s…Riley’s still dead and nothing I do changes that.”

 _“Sam,”_ Sharon cautioned, sounding a million miles away. _“What happened to Riley, it’s not your fault. Just like what happened to Barnes isn’t Steve’s. You know that, right? You did everything you could for your friend. It just…happened. No one could have stopped it.”_

Sam was grasping at straws as he feebly argued, “If I had just-"

 _“No.”_ Sharon’s voice was warm but firm. _“Don’t tear yourself apart with ‘what ifs.’ That way leads to madness. Trust me, I’m an expert at it. It wasn’t your fault.”_

Sam looked out into the night as her words washed over him. “It wasn’t my fault,” he whispered back.

_“Exactly. Riley wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself.”_

“I guess,” Sam weakly acquiesced as the tightening around his heart began to loosen, even if only an inch. He felt…maybe not better, but he wasn’t dragged down by his own crushing emotions anymore.

_“Have you talked to Steve about this?”_

Oh. Yeah.

Sam cringed as he rubbed the back of his neck. “About that…”

 _“Oh boy,”_ Sharon interjected cautiously, _“What happened?”_

“I may have…said some things I shouldn’t have.”

 _“Like what?”_ Sharon inquired curiously.

“Like…” Sam wheedled before biting the bullet and owning up his own shit. “The fact that Barnes may just be hiding because he doesn’t want anything to do with Steve.”

Quiet. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

 _“Wow.”_ She sounded gob-smacked as she tried to work through that. _“That’s…definitely something.”_

Sam groaned in despair. “And now I feel bad because…”

 _“It’s like kicking a golden retriever who just wants love?”_ she summed up perfectly.

“Exactly!” he crowed with a punch to the air. She had articulated his feelings perfectly. He heard her light laughter as she responded.

_“Buddy, I know exactly where you’re coming from. I’ve been putting up with it for years. It’s all in the eyes. They go big and round-"_

“And all watery,” he jumped in, knowing exactly what she was talking about. “Like he wants to cry but is holding it in for your sake because he doesn’t want to be a burden.”

 _“Right!”_ she answered. _“And then he does that thing where he tries to smile but it’s all sad and downturned and has a way of making you feel terrible on the inside.”_

“Yeah,” Sam chuckled but it filtered away as the guilt settled in. “Damn it, I’m a shitty person.”

 _“No, you’re not,"_ she assured him. _“Steve just inspires things in us, makes us want to be better than what we’re always capable of. It’s endearingly annoying.”_

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “Something like that. Hey, what time is it?”

He checked his watch and cursed aloud at the time. “Shit. It’s almost 3am. Am I’m keeping you up?”

 _“Not in the slightest,”_ she volleyed back. _“It’s almost 9pm here in DC. I was up.”_

“Doing what?” Being cooped up with Steve for so long, Sam had forgotten how nice it was to just chat with someone. He and Steve were definitely beyond the point of polite chitchat but he didn’t always feel like spilling his guts to the Avenger.

But talking to Sharon was surprisingly easy. And needed.

_“Paperwork, as always.”_

“Ouch.” Sam whistled lowly in sympathy.

_“Yeah, I’m pretty sure my boss hates my guts. But, alas, I should probably get back to it. If I don’t, Bridge will have my ass.”_

“Well, we can’t have that. I’ll let you go. Hey, Sharon?”

_“Yeah, Sam?”_

“Thanks.” He blew out a grateful breath. “I needed someone to talk to.”

He could hear the smile in her voice as she replied. _“Anytime. It’s what friends do.”_

A grin spread across his face. “Ride or die, baby, ride or die.”

Her laugh tinkered through the line, bright and easy. _“Good luck with Steve. Hey, and tell that lug that I’ve recorded all of season four of_ Game of Thrones _for him so he can stop passive-aggressively asking me about it every time he texts.”_

Sam’s laughter came unexpectedly as he nodded once, even though she couldn’t see him.

“Will do," he promised in parting. “Catch you later, C-Money.”

_“Ta-ta, Birdman.”_

He hung up, pocketing the phone back into his jeans. With another shake of his head, he began finding his way back to the hotel. Since he hadn’t been paying a lick of attention with stomping off, it was hard to find his way. He finally caved and looked up the motel on his phone, following the directions as he wandered slowly back to it.

The room was dark as he pushed open the door. He saw a lump on Steve’s mattress covered with a thin blanket. The light in the bathroom was on, clearly a sign that Steve hadn’t wanted him tripping around in the dark.

Man, it was hard to stay angry at the guy when he did things like that.

Sam really was an asshole sometimes.

He moved quietly, picking up his toiletries as he went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He stripped down to his boxers, brushing his teeth and flossing. When he was done with his nightly routine, he flicked off the light and crept to his bed. He slipped underneath the sheets, burying his head in his pillow and falling asleep between one breath and the next.

When he woke up it was bright and sunny. He stretched out, rolling onto his back. He turned his head towards Steve’s bed and found it empty and neatly made up with military precision. On the table between the beds was a note written in Steve’s script.

_Went to the bistro down the street. Feel free to join._

_~ S_

The gurgling of Sam’s stomach made his decision for him. He kicked off his blankets, stood and quickly dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. Swiping his keys, he slunk out of the hotel and followed Steve’s vague directions.

He came up short as he saw the super-soldier sitting at an outdoor table, coffee and pastries in front of him. His blond head was down as he bent over a sketchpad, lightly doodling. His blue eyes were tracing over a street performer dancing for the early breakfast crowd.

The guilt immediately came back to Sam as he slowly made his way to the table.

“Hey, man,” he hesitantly greeted. Steve tensed for a moment before nodding politely. His eyes went back to his pad as Sam seated himself, reaching for a croissant. It was awkward between them, which was all kinds of wrong because from the moment they had met they had always been in sync. They could read each other’s thoughts, trusted each other unequivocally.

And now it was all foreign because Sam had been feeling like shit and took it out on the one man who wouldn’t fight back.

If they were gonna get back to how they had been, Sam was just going to have to be the bigger man and apologize. This was his doing after all.

With this in mind, he opened his mouth, “Hey, Steve-"

“I’m sorry.”

Sam stared, mouth hanging open as he blinked in disbelief. Steve looked down, sheepish but so earnest as he ran a hand through his faux messy hair.

“What?” Sam got out, still surprised.

Steve looked up at him, lips turned down as he said once again, “I’m sorry, about before. You were right. I’ve been talking about Bucky. _A lot.”_

“Man,” Sam sighed. “It was messed up for me to say what I did.”

Steve shook his head. “No, it wasn’t. Maybe a bit dramatic.” The two shared small grins as Steve continued. “But it wasn’t wrong.”

Steve’s smile faded as fidgeted with his pencil absentmindedly. “For the longest time, after my ma died, Bucky was all I had. It’s easy, sometimes, to forget that that’s no longer the case. I still have Bucky, but I also have you.” He kicked Sam lightly in the foot under the table. “And Sharon, Natasha, the Avengers, and everyone else who cares about me. I’m gonna try and remember that moving forward.”

The two locked eyes as Steve breathed out. “I should have told you this before…but, I, didn’t know how to, I guess. But I am so damned lucky and grateful to have you here on this mission with me. Honest to God, Sam, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He blinked rapidly at the liquid pooling in the corners of his eyes. “Every time we come up short with finding him, I just want to give up. Because I can’t understand why he won’t let _me_ find him. Sometimes, I want to pack it up and go back to DC or wherever and stop looking for him. But then you push me to the next location and I can’t stop hoping that one day, we’ll find him.”

“You never know,” Sam said as he leaned back into his chair. “We may just do that. Weirder things have happened.”

Steve chuckled wetly as he rubbed his eye, smudging some charcoal on his cheek. “Yeah, weirder things have happened.”

He smiled as he sipped his coffee. The air between the two of them was back to normal with the ghosts of Bucky and Riley pushed away. Now they were free to just be Steve and Sam. Sam couldn’t help but feel good as he munched happily on a pastry.

“So,” he said as crumbs flaked onto his shirt. “With Prague being a dead end, where are we off to next?”

They were always matter-of-fact when it came to looking for Barnes. They’d come to a city, locate the Hydra base, analyze whatever data they had found, and move onto the next place, like wanderers.

Not much time for sightseeing when hunting down an assassin.

“Well,” Steve suggested with a slight grin. “I don’t see a need to hurry. I’ve always wanted to see the National Gallery, if you’re actually able to appreciate fine art, that is.”

Sam squawked loudly as he shook his head. “Oh, that’s how it is?”

Steve smiled devilishly as he nodded. “That’s how it is.”

“Okay, Captain Little Butt,” Sam pointed, crackling at Steve’s affronted look. “Let’s get our art on then.”

The two snickered and kept volleying good-natured digs back and forth. And for the first time in a long time, Sam felt content with the world around him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. I'm the worst. I'm sorry! With the arrival of Infinity War I got back on my Bucky Barnes/Winterpanther train in anticipation. Also, I have seen IW, and it broke my heart. So I came back to Staron as solace. Also, the saddest thing about this is that fact that I had this chapter meticulously planned out. I had 30 or so bullet points in my Word document. It should have been easy to write it. Same thing happened with the Josephina Vermis chapter. I guess, moving forward, I'll just do broad points planned out and let the chapter speak to me as I'm writing. If I plan more than that then I mentally block myself from actually writing. 
> 
> I really wanted to write this chapter from Sam's perspective because I think it's always easy to overlook him in the movies. While he does go along with Steve, he's not just there to be his therapist. He has thoughts and feelings. And I can't help but imagine after months of constantly being on the move looking for Bucky, he'd be angry and resentful. Especially because he lost Riley, but unlike Steve, his best friend is still dead. Also, I think this lines up with his feelings for Bucky in CW. He doesn't really like or trust Bucky, but he trusts Steve. So, I wanted to explore some of Sam's thoughts when it comes to their mission.
> 
> A lot of people have been asking me about my Pinterest boards. So I decided to make them public. You can look them up on my Pinterest account: gogentledarknight13. I have boards for Sharon, Natasha, Maria, Sam and Steve. I love clothes, so hopefully you guys enjoy my vision of these characters and their sartorial choices. 
> 
> I would love to hear your guys' feedback for the chapter! It always means a lot to me.
> 
> Pic time!
> 
> Steve in Prague:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/41790604301/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Sam in Prague:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/41790604181/in/dateposted-public/)


	18. You're Here, Every Day's the Weekend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve shifted uncomfortably as he feebly explained, “It happened while we were on tour.”
> 
> Sharon, no longer horrified, but rather confused, could only ask, “How many USO girls?”
> 
> The blush deepened across his cheeks as he tried to deflect. “A couple.”
> 
> “Rogers,” Sharon screeched as she reached out and slapped his arm, “You dog!”

**_July 27 th, 2014_ **

**_Arlington, VA_ **

****

_Splash. Splash._

It was raining heavily as Sharon darted her way through puddles, water and mud catching onto her rain boots. The sky was grey and ominous as a summer thunderstorm rolled through the borders of the nation’s capital.

As thunder rumbled, Sharon hightailed it into Peggy’s care center. She did a victorious jig as she rolled into the lobby, water dripping off of her, pooling onto the rug beneath her feet. She flicked off her hood, nearly upending the messy bun resting precariously atop her head.

“Hi, Ruth,” Sharon greeted the receptionist cheerfully as she undid the champagne pink infinity scarf wrapped around her neck. She unwound it until it hung loosely off her neck.

“How’s my aunt doing?” she asked as she began stepping forward, towards Peggy’s room. She halted immediately when she saw the pained look that crossed Ruth’s usually plump and pleasant face.

“What is it?” Sharon asked urgently as she leaned across the desk, heart beginning to beat erratically within her chest as all the dire possibilities flashed through her mind.

“She isn’t having a good day,” Ruth began apologetically before steeling herself. “To be frank, Ms. Carter, she hasn’t been having a good week.”

A sliver of relief passed through Sharon because Peggy being lost in her memories was still better than Peggy sick or, God forbid, _dying._ But still, she remained cautious as she processed Ruth’s stark words.

“How bad is it?”

Ruth sighed as she clasped her hands together. “She’s bouncing around a lot. Sometimes she’s aware that it’s 2014, but then she’ll go somewhere else. Sometimes it’s WWII, other times it’s when she was a girl growing up in London. Yesterday she was convinced that the Berlin Wall had fallen only a year ago.”

“And today?” Sharon pressed, wanting to know what she was getting into, setting mission parameters and such. She’d never want to overwhelm Peggy. It was always best to play along, especially when the delusions had been going on for so long. Forcibly trying to place her in the present only led to frustration and anger on Peggy’s part, rightfully so.

“She thinks it’s the 90s today, keeps going on about what she’s supposed to do now that she’s retired.”

Okay. Sharon could work with that.

So with a nod of her head, she pushed herself off the front desk and stood up straight. “Thanks, Ruth. I’ll take it from here.”

She ignored the sympathetic look shot her way as she slowly trudged down the hall, shoulders drooped with lofty expectation. She hesitated momentarily outside Peggy’s door, taking a moment to collect herself. She breathed in deeply before raising her head and squaring back her shoulders. With a determined nod of her head, she was knocking on the door and peering inside the cozy room.

Peggy – as always – was in her bed, quilt thrown over her lap as her grey hair fell down her back in gentle waves. She looked up at the nod, confusion filling her eyes as she stared at Sharon, clearly not recognizing her.

“Hello,” she murmured primly, politely British as ever. “May I help you?”

“Hi,” Sharon greeted with a friendly wave. “My car has totally broken down and I’d rather not deal with it right now with the rain and all. Would you mind if I sat in here to pass the time?”

Peggy’s eyes narrowed as she assessed the foreigner in her room. Luckily for Sharon, she had years to learn all of Peggy’s tricks. She kept her smile sincere and easy, never letting it become forced or strained. After a moment Peggy nodded succinctly to the chair resting idly next to her bed.

Sharon waded into the room before gingerly seating herself. She noted the scrapbook opened in Peggy’s lap. The picture visible was an older one of Sharon when she was a toddler, seating in Peggy’s lap with her golden blonde hair in pigtails and a large grin on her chubby face. Sharon’s eyes darted away as Peggy examined her.

“I’d offer you tea, but I’m afraid I can’t seem to find my tea set,” her aunt offhandedly remarked as Sharon waved her off.

“That’s okay, I’m more of a coffee person myself.”

Peggy huffed good-naturedly as she leaned back against her pillows. “Of course you are. You Americans are all alike.”

Sharon’s lips quirked up at her aunt’s long-held affront of the many things Americans were lacking in. Even her spotty memory couldn’t change everything about her. It’d just hide it, making Peggy harder and harder to see.

“I like sweet tea well enough,” Sharon teased, watching the telltale frown cross Peggy’s face.

“Oh bother,” Peggy muttered to herself, her disdain for southern sweet tea a legend among the Carter family.

When Peggy was finally past her disgust she looked at Sharon, curiosity dancing in her eyes. “Well, what has you traveling on a hellish day such as this?”

To make her point thunder rumbled heavily and lightning burst outside the window, lighting up the dark sky momentarily.

“I work for the National Archives,” Sharon rattled off without blinking. It had been her cover story for years. “I was on my way to Mt. Vernon to pick up some documents. The engine of my car’s been rattling all week and I thought I could hold off fixing it until this weekend, but, well…”

“You’ve landed yourself in a sticky situation,” Peggy deduced as Sharon grinned sheepishly, playing her part perfectly.

“Guilty as charged.”

Peggy shook her head. “Young people these days. You all think you’re invincible like you’re gods or something.”

“Well,” Sharon mused as she crossed her legs comfortably. “I’ve only met one god. But don’t worry, he was a ‘little g’ god.”

Peggy laughed, taking her words for the joke she had meant them to be. Who cared that it was true.

“You’re a funny one, aren’t you?”

Sharon shrugged nonchalantly. “I try. So tell me, what do you do?”

Peggy’s eyes shuttered in thought, clearly sizing Sharon up to see if she was worthy of knowing such important information. She must have passed Peggy’s secret test as the older woman leaned in conspiratorially.

“Have you ever heard of SHIELD?”

Sharon’s eyes immediately darted down to her lap as she shifted uncomfortably. SHIELD, at least for her, was still a sensitive topic that tore at her heart every time she thought about the organization that had once been her life. Playing dumb she answered. “Once or twice. It’s like the CIA, right?”

Peggy snorted disdainfully. “Much more efficient than the CIA, that I can promise you.”

Sharon couldn’t help but smile in return. “I’ll take your word for it. Do you work there?”

Peggy let out a mournful sigh as her fingers traced absentmindedly over the photo in her lap. “I used to. Newly retired and all.”

“Congratulations,” Sharon said. “What will you do with all your free time?”

“Hmm, I dread thinking of it,” Peggy answered truthfully. “My husband keeps promising he’ll take me dancing.”

Sharon smiled softly. Some of Peggy’s favorite memories of her younger years were the times she and Uncle Daniel went dancing. She’d put on her prettiest dress, her trademark vivid red lipstick, hair curled to perfection and sweep Daniel off of his feet with her graceful spins and twirls.

She was pulled from her musings as Peggy frowned, peering at Sharon. “What did you say your name was, dear?”

She couldn’t explain the pain that erupted every time Peggy failed to recognize her.

But she sucked up the hurt as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Sharon.” She forced herself to remain light and engaging. “It’s Sharon.”

“How coincidental!” Peggy beamed broadly as she held up the worn out scrapbook for Sharon to see. “I have a niece named Sharon.”

Sharon made a small sound of acknowledgment as her face remained neutral. “Oh.”

“Yes,” Peggy gushed as she tilted the picture Sharon’s way. “She’s a little ball of brilliant energy. Quick as a whistle that one. Quite advanced for a child.”

“She sounds quite special,” Sharon got out as she hastily wiped at her eyes.

“Hmmm. Yes,” Peggy said with a fond smile. “She’s my pride and joy these days.”

Peggy went on for a while, bragging on Sharon’s intelligence and curiosity as if solving a Rubik’s Cube at the age of six was really impressive. Any fool could do that. Eventually, her talking stammered off as her afternoon drowsiness began to set in. She nodded off shortly afterward and Sharon tucked her in so she wouldn’t become cold with a draft. She didn’t know how long she sat there, just staring at her aunt. It must have been hours or so.

Finally, Sharon forced himself up and left the care center, waving listlessly to Ruth on her way. She slipped into her Stingray and drove aimlessly back to DC. The thunderstorm and lightning had moved on, leaving somber clouds and a light drizzle in its wake. Without thinking much of it, Sharon found herself at the National Mall, wandering through puddles. Not many joggers or tourists were out, the weather having scared them off. The rain had broken the fierce summer humidity and a breeze was causing Sharon to shiver as she wrapped her coat tighter around her.

She came to a stop at the base of the Washington Monument, the obelisk rising far above her. Around her American flags were swaying in the wind. When she was young and Uncle Daniel watched over her in lieu of daycare, they’d sometimes surprise Peggy at the Trisk with lunch. She’d always make time for the jolly pair. They’d come here, to the Mall, and eat in the shade of the Washington Monument on a picnic blanket. 

Those were some of Sharon’s favorite days.

Days Peggy no longer remembered.

Blinking back tears, Sharon sniffled, wiping her nose on her sleeve like some kind of degenerate. She fished her cellphone out of her pocket, debating for a moment, before biting the bullet and giving in. The phone rang as she brought it up to her ear and waited for the recipient to answer.

 _“I’m sorry,”_ a familiar and much-needed voice answered. _“Am I talking to my former best friend, Sharon Carter?”_

“Aw, Kit-Kat,” Sharon sang out weakly. “Don’t be like that.”

 _“I have every right to be like that,”_ Catherine asserted. _“You missed my bridal shower. You do remember that as my Maid of Honor you were expected to be there, right?”_

Sharon winced because, yeah, she knew that. But there were only so many times that ‘classified mission’ sailed before people stopped caring and saw it for what it was, an excuse.

“I know,” Sharon sighed. “I’m really sorry about that.”

_“Where was my apology weeks ago? You’ve gone completely off the radar.”_

Sharon looked down guilty as she kicked at a people. Yeah, she hadn’t been the best friend lately. It was just so hard. She was trying to be her best at the CIA, to get an in, to get Bridge to trust her, and things had gone to the wayside in her quest to be the best agent ever.

And it didn’t help that she didn’t like confronting guilt head-on. Better to act as if it never existed.

“I guess I was a bit scared,” Sharon conceded lowly. She almost expected Catherine’s surprised snort.

_“You? Scared? I thought you weren’t scared of anything.”_

“Oh, trust me,” Sharon responded. “I’m scared of a lot of things.”

Like Peggy forgetting her.

Like the fact she didn’t know what the hell she was doing at the CIA.

Like her worries that she would never be who she used to be before SHIELD and Hydra.

Like the fact that she was still here, even though Steve, Natasha, Sam, Maria, and Fury had all left her behind.

And worst of all, sometimes, when she looked at herself in the mirror – really _looked_ at herself – she didn’t always like what she saw.

But those weren’t Catherine’s problems. She was planning a beautiful wedding. A wedding Sharon was supposed to be a part of. Another thing she was failing at.

“I’ll do better,” Sharon promised sincerely because Catherine had been there since the beginning. She could set aside her own personal shit-show of a life for her best friend. She’d do that gladly.

 _“You better.”_ Through the bite, Sharon could hear her smile. _“I expect to be treated like a princess at my bachelorette party.”_

Sharon’s stomach dropped.

Shit.

“Yeah,” she got out nervously. “Of course, your bachelorette party. Obviously.”

Fuck.

 _“Sharon,”_ Catherine breathed out disappointedly. _“You have been working on my bachelorette party…right?”_

“Of course I have!” Sharon got out shrilly, kicking herself. “Of course I have.”

_“It’s next month.”_

“I know that,” Sharon tried to reassure. “I’m on top of things.”

 _“If it’s too much for you,”_ Catherine began diplomatically. _“Rachel is more than – “_

“I’ve got this. I don’t need _Rachel’s_ help,” Sharon got out through gritted teeth.

Rachel Bohlen was the NYC equivalent of Sharon. She was Catherine’s New York best friend. She was there for everything Sharon couldn’t be: weekend dinners, manicures and spa days, jogs along the Hudson, yoga classes in the Village. That vulture of a dyed blonde had been trying to pry Catherine away from Sharon for the last five years. Catherine refused to see it, but Sharon _knew._

But Sharon wasn’t about to lose Catherine. She had already lost her livelihood and sense of identity, she’d be damned if she lost her best friend.

 _“Are you sure?”_ Catherine asked seriously. _“Because lately, you seem…stressed.”_

“I don’t care how _stressed_ I’ve been, this is your big day. Nothing will stop me from making it special for you. You know why? Because I love you.”

_“Aww, Share-Bear. I love you too.”_

“Awesome,” Sharon declared as she began walking away from the Washington Monument. “Because you’re going to have the best bachelorette party a girl could ask for. I promise.”

Hell or high water, Sharon was going to do that.

 

* * *

 

 

**_August 4 th, 2014 _ **

**_Piran, Slovenia_ **

****

“Shit.”

Steve looked up in surprise from his lunch as he looked to Sam, who was seated across the table. The man had his cellphone out and was typing quickly on it, tongue sticking out in concentration. He smiled smugly as he hit a key with a note of finality. The smugness only lasted about thirty seconds when his phone beeped in response.

He stared down at it, cursing underneath his breath as he pounded the table with his fist in frustration. Steve apologetically shrugged to the passing waitress who only rolled her eyes, muttering in Slovenian as she walked by.

“Oh, come on!” Sam moaned wretchedly as his head fell forward, connecting with the table. He banged it several times as Steve’s brows furrowed.

He really hoped someone hadn’t died.

It was too early in the day for that.

“What are you doing?” He finally felt brave enough to ask when Sam stopped killing precious brain cells and slowly sat up. He only received a fierce glare from his friend.

“I’m playing _Words with Friends_ against Sharon,” he said, like that explained everything.

And really, it did.

“Ah.” Steve nodded in understanding. “How are you faring?”

“Not well,” Sam grumbled. “She has an extensive vocabulary.”

“Well, her dad’s an English professor, so I’m not terribly surprised,” Steve said after a moment, ignoring the dirty kick to his shin. Sam had a mean kick for being a flyer.

“She beat me using the word _quixotry,”_ Sam breathed out dejectedly, his face incredulous. “What does that even mean?”

“Hell if I know,” Steve pleasantly chimed in as he bit into his Štruklji, enjoying the walnut filling. It was delightfully crunchy.

Of course, it was at this moment that their peaceful morning was shattered.

Steve startled as his cellphone loudly began blaring a dreaded and familiar ringtone.

_“I am Iron Man.”_

Steve flushed as he quickly pulled out his cellphone, feeling the eyes of all the confused diners glaring at the idiotic American with the obnoxious ringtone.

“Who’s that?” Sam questioned curiously.

Steve scowled as he quipped sarcastically, “Who do you think?”

“Black Sabbath? Really?” Sam asked with a raised eyebrow before shaking his head in disappointment. “That’s just cliché,”

“I didn’t pick it,” Steve defended. “He did it when I had my back turned.”

He swiped his thumb across the screen, accepting the call. With a hesitant sigh, he brought the phone up to his ear.

“Tony,” he greeted tentatively because no one ever really knew what to expect from Tony Stark. Not even Pepper.

_“Hey, Capsicle. How’s the Adriatic?”_

Steve could already feel a headache forming behind his eyes. Of course Tony knew where he was.

“It’s sunny,” he dryly cracked. “What can I do for you?”

_“Word on the street is your lease is just about up on your humble little abode in DC.”_

Steve couldn’t help but shake his head as he leaned back into the booth. “I don’t even want to know how you know that.”

_“I know everything, Cap. The sooner you come to that epiphany the more the world around you will make sense.”_

“I doubt that,” Steve sardonically intoned as he scraped his fork over his plate. As unsettled as he felt, it didn’t stop the fact that Tony was correct. His lease was up at the end of the month and he was still undecided about whether or not to renew. He hadn’t stepped foot in his Dupont Circle apartment in months. And even after nearly two years of living in DC, it had never been home to the wayward Avenger.

He hated the humidity in the summer, the fact that there was no true skyline, how everyone only talked politics at every available opportunity and how elitist the city truly was.

It wasn’t his kind of town.

Truthfully, he didn’t know where he belonged.

He had justified DC because of SHIELD, but now that SHIELD was gone, he didn’t know where he should be.

“So, what’s it to you?” Steve asked, ignoring the questioning glance Sam flashed him from across the table.

 _“Well,”_ Tony wheedled in that annoyingly charming way that only the billionaire could pull off. _“I just happen to have this amazing, state of the art tower that is a pioneer in both technology and environmentally sustainable. You’ve seen it, right? Oh, wait, of course, you have. You were the heathen that called it ugly-"_

“Get to the point, Tony,” Steve patiently cut in, knowing that his friend could go on forever when talking about himself and his own accomplishments.

_“Jeez Louise, Cap. Can’t you let me bask for a minute in my own sun?”_

“You’d be basking all day,” Steve batted back without blinking. “Some of us have things to do.”

 _“Touchy.”_ Steve could hear the smirk in Tony’s tone, so he really didn’t feel all that bad. _“What I’ve been trying to tell you, is that there’s an entire floor with your name on it. In case DC’s no longer your scene.”_

Steve sat there, stumped. Of all the things he had expected from Tony, offering him a place at the Tower was not even in the stratosphere. It wasn’t that the gesture in of itself took him by surprise – Tony’s generosity knew no bounds, though the man would be hard-pressed to ever admit it – it just had never crossed Steve’s mind to return to New York.

“Tony,” he got out before breathing out deeply, reaching up to rub his neck. “I…that’s very kind of you.”

 _“Whatever.”_ Tony, as always, was quick to shrug off any heartfelt emotions. _“Just think about it, okay? And if you decide to move in, let Hill know. She’ll handle everything.”_

Steve chuckled as he fondly shook his head. “You know she isn’t your PA, don’t you?”

_“Pshh. Of course, I know that. She’d be so lucky to be my PA.”_

“She’d probably kick your ass.”

_“Don’t remind me. Alright, Cap, I’m out. Peace.”_

Steve still had a small smile on his face as he hung up and slid his phone back into his jacket pocket. He immediately noticed the quizzical expression Sam was wearing as he observed the super-soldier.

“What was that about?” Sam wasted no time in beating around the bush.

Steve shrugged. “Just Tony being Tony. He’s harassing me about moving into the Tower in New York.”

Sam arched a high eyebrow as he leaned onto the table. “You thinking about it?”

“Maybe,” Steve conceded as he tinkered with his fork absentmindedly. “With SHIELD gone, there’s not much left for me in DC, just Peggy and…”

He trailed off uncertainly, and he most definitely didn’t like the sly grin that crossed Sam’s face.

“Sharon?” he helpfully supplied. His tone left Steve blinking and feeling unmoored as he slowly nodded.

“And Sharon. And you,” He hastily added as Sam’s grin grew.

“Man, I’m stuck to you like glue. If you stay in DC, it’ll have nothing to do with me.”

It was quiet for a moment as Sam’s smile slipped away and he regarded his friend seriously. “You thinking about it, moving back to New York?”

Steve lifted his shoulder in a meager half-shrug. “A little.”

“It’s been, what? Seventy years since you last lived there?”

“Seventy-one,” Steve corrected faintly.

Sam whistled lowly, shaking his head. “That’s a long time to be away from home.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “It is.”

“It could be a good thing,” Sam hesitantly stated as Steve watched his friend closely, waiting for him to elaborate. That’s how their friendship worked: they were always honest, no time for bullshit.

Sam sighed as he slumped back into his seat. “Look, I know how important finding Barnes is to you. But you have to admit, we’ve been doing this for _months_ and we haven’t found hide nor hair of the guy.”

Steve’s brows furrowed as his lips turned down into an inquiring frown. “What are you saying?”

Sam breathed out deeply as he looked down at his hands. “Look, Steve, I’ll do this as long as you want to. But I have to admit…a break sounds like something we need. The VA is starting to breathe down my neck, and so is my momma. I’ve missed one too many family reunions.”

“Sam,” Steve’s expression was pain stricken. “If I had known…”

Sam waved him off. “I’m here because I want to be. Well, for the most part.”

The two shared understanding looks, remembering the fissure that had developed in Prague. It had been eye-opening for Steve. They had worked past it, but things were still a bit tentative between the two.

Maybe Sam was right, a break could do wonders for _both_ of them.

“Alright,” Steve said decisively. “Let’s do this. Let’s go home.”

Sam’s eyes lit up. “You sure?”

Steve nodded. It was the first thing he had been sure of in a while.

 

* * *

 

 

**_August 10 th, 2014_ **

**_Washington, D.C._ **

****

Sharon was about ready to rip her hair out of her head. Honestly, who knew planning a bachelorette party could be so _stressful?_ It didn’t help the fact that the bachelorette party was going to be in an entirely different state than where she was currently situated.

She was sitting cross-legged on her couch, laptop in her lap with more than a dozen tabs opened as she tried figuring out the best options for the best prices. It didn’t help that she also had Facebook messenger opened as the other bridesmaids chimed in incessantly from their group.

Wasn’t a bachelorette party supposed to be fun? Because planning it sure as hell wasn’t.

Between this and her mounting work at the CIA, Sharon was going to be sleep deprived by the time the wedding rolled around next month.

She truly was out of her depth here.

She wanted this to be amazing because Catherine deserved nothing less, but this was a beast she had no idea how to tame.

Sharon’s eyes narrowed as she once again checked in on the group chat. One name was sitting right at the top of the ongoing discussion.

Rachel Bohlen.

Sharon chewed her lip contemplatively as she stared at that blasted name. On the one hand, this would be the best thing for Catherine. On the other hand, she would rather saw off her own arm than ask _Rachel Bohlen_ for help.

“Dammit.” she cursed under her breath as she angrily reached for her cellphone, punching in the dreaded number.

It rang and rang before…

 _“Hello?”_ a wonderfully pleasant voice answered. Sharon hated it immediately but trampled down the distaste coursing through her.

“Hi, Rachel. This is Sharon Carter.”

 _“Sharon!”_ the blonde couldn’t help but wince at the increased decibels through the line. _“What can I do for you?”_

Sharon’s eyes slid shut as she prayed for strength. She was never one to concede defeat, but this time she saw no other alternative.

“Yeah, look I know this is terribly last minute, but I’ve found that planning Catherine’s bachelorette party is more than I can handle right now and I-"

 _“Say no more,”_ Rachel cut in gleefully and maybe just a tad bit vindictive, though perhaps Sharon was just projecting. _“I’ve got you covered.”_

“Covered?” Sharon huffed out disbelievingly. “Really?”

_“Oh, yeah. I’ve got a binder and everything.”_

“Binder?” Sharon questioned. “That seems…extreme.”

 _“I’ve been a Maid of Honor three times,”_ Rachel touted proudly. _“I’m prepared for anything. Alight, don’t you worry, Catherine’s going to have the best bachelorette party ever!”_

“I’m sure she is,” Sharon sarcastically muttered.

 _“This is so exciting!”_ Rachel squealed as Sharon’s nose wrinkled. _“I better get to it. See you later this month!”_

The phone clicked before Sharon could say anything. She hung up slowly, closing her laptop in defeat. She dropped her head, rotating her neck from side to side, groaning as joints popped. When that was done she leaned back into her comfy couch.

Now that that problem was handled, that only left…

Her gaze dropped at the innocuous postcard resting next to her. She hadn’t looked at it in weeks, burying it in a pile of mail when it had arrived long ago. But now her timeline for avoidance was at its end. She picked it up, eyes catching the words printed across the card stock.

It was Catherine and Jessie’ RSVP.

What really caught her eye was the matter of her plus one.

Months ago it had been easy.

She was going to take Neal, because why wouldn’t she?

Now. Well…it wasn’t that easy anymore.

Sharon sighed as she tossed the postcard to the side. She’d deal with it later. She glanced quickly at her watch.

“Shit.”

She jumped up from the couch, hurrying through her apartment as she gathered her belongings. She jammed her toes into sandals, threw her purse over her shoulder and stopped at her hallway mirror, quickly double checking that she didn’t have anything stuck in her teeth or that her hair wasn’t perfect. When she passed her own inspection, she picked her keys out of her dish and left her apartment behind.

Just as she was nearing her Stingray, her phone began ringing. Answering without checking because she knew who was calling her.

“Hey,” she answered breathlessly as she slipped into her car. “I know, I’m running late. I’ll be there right after I pick up takeout. Thai works for you, right? Awesome. See you soon.”

She hung up and peeled out of the underground garage. She stopped along the way to grab goodie bags of takeout and was on her way. She battled for parallel parking and finally succeeded. She entered the apartment building, taking the creaky stairs two at a time until she reached the fourth floor. She meandered down the hallway before ending up at a familiar door. She knocked lightly and shifted from foot to foot as she waited.

“It’s open!” a muffled voice yelled through the door. Sharon twisted the doorknob and the door easily pushed open. She made her way inside, walking down the hallway, past the open kitchen and into the living room.

Boxes were everywhere, some taped shut, others opened and half filled with earthly belongings.

In the middle of the chaos was none other than Steve. Deck out in a snug green hoodie and jeans, he was standing barefoot as he packed away some records carefully into a cardboard box. It looked like he had been serious when he told her he was thinking of moving to New York.

Sharon had to admit, it was good seeing him again in the flesh. Texting and phone tag was fine and dandy, but nothing was better than seeing Steve in person. He seemed larger than life as he stood amongst the scattered remains of what had been his home for two years. A smile appeared readily on her face as she watched him work. She’d never admit it aloud, but she had missed him in the months he had been absent from DC. Life wasn’t the same when the Avenger wasn’t around.

“Hey, stranger,” she greeted warmly. Steve raised his head, grinning when they locked eyes.

“Hey, yourself.” He sniffed the air delicately, nose scrunched up. “Is that Thai I smell?”

She held up the takeout bags victoriously. “It is indeed. Where can I put it?”

Steve glanced around as he decided. “Coffee table works. I’ve already packed up the dining room table and chairs. Hope you don’t mind sitting on the floor.”

“Works for me,” Sharon said as she walked forward, sidestepping boxes. She dropped the bags on the coffee table as Steve stepped into his kitchen, procuring utensils and plates. Sharon plopped down, shifting her dress down her legs as she made herself comfortable. The two wasted no time in digging in. As Sharon was munching on Kao Phad, she couldn’t help but ask,

“So it’s been a minute since I’ve seen you last.” The two blondes shared knowing grins at how long it had really been. “Tell me how your _Up All Night to Get Bucky World Tour_ is going.”

Steve shook his head gulped down spring rolls. “Fruitless. As always.”

He went into further detail, though Sharon already knew most of it from past conversations. She was sympathetic at the right parts and analytical of others as Steve relayed Intel to her. Two heads were always better than one when it came to brainstorming. When they exhausted the conversation and finished all their food between them, Sharon had a food baby growing in her stomach as she stretched out across the floor.

“I ate like a horse,” she moaned pathetically.

“That’s funny because I think I’m still a little hungry,” Steve jested as he patted his flat stomach.

“Oh, shut up, you.” Sharon weakly kicked at his hip, missing him by a mile with her lethargy. Steve chuckled, blond head thrown back. “Not everyone was gifted with an enhanced metabolism.”

His eyes were crinkled fondly as he looked down at her. “What’s up with you? You’re still planning Catherine’s bachelorette party, right?”

Sharon let out a whine as she shook her head. “No. I officially regulated my duties as planner to Rachel. God, I hate her.”

Steve raised a bemused eyebrow. “Why don’t we like Rachel?”

“Because,” Sharon groaned as she gingerly sat up, ignoring her stomach’s growls. “She’s a vulture. She’s been trying to steal Catherine from me for years.”

“I wasn’t aware one could steal a best friend,” Steve drolly remarked.

“Yeah, wait until someone tries it with Sam and then get back to me,” Sharon muttered with an eye roll.

“I mean,” she continued, lost in her own rambling thoughts. “Who knew it was so hard to plan a bachelorette party? Between party buses and strip clubs and dildo shaped cupcakes, I was so out of my element.”

Steve flushed from beside her and Sharon was quick to notice as he ran a hand through his hair, messing it up. Her lips quirked up as she watched him.

“My bad,” she told him. “I forget about how _virtuous_ you are.”

No one got through 10th grade US History without knowing how legendary of a virgin Captain America was.

Steve stared at her blankly, eyebrows furrowed adorably. “What are you talking about?”

“You know,” Sharon gestured, but his eyes remained dazed. “The fact that you’re a…”

She trailed off, hoping he would pick up what she was putting down. But alas, he was going to make it difficult for her.

 _“Virgin,”_ she stage-whispered, now more embarrassed than he was. His eyes were blown wide as he stared at her.

“I’ve had sex before,” he stated slowly, like talking to a particularly dumb child. “I’m not a virgin.”

_What?!?_

Steve had had sex?!? With who? He most definitely hadn’t been getting any in this century, no matter how hard Natasha tried (and she had). His downstairs had been like the Sahara Desert ever since Sharon knew him. Which meant it happened in the past.

Which only left…

“Oh, God!” she wailed as she sat up straight, feeling sick. Too many graphic images were now flashing unwanted through her mind. “It was Peggy, wasn’t it?”

“What?” Steve paled as he shook his head, “No-"

“I could have gone my whole life without knowing that!” Sharon cried out, rocking back and forth. She needed bleach, alcohol, anything to remove this conversation from her brain forever. She knew they were star-crossed lovers, but there were just some things she never wanted to know about her aunt or her former partner. This was at the top of the list.

“It wasn’t Peggy!” Steve loudly asserted. He waited until Sharon was giving him her full attention as he elaborated. “It was some of the USO girls.”

Silence.

Steve shifted uncomfortably as he feebly explained, “It happened while we were on tour.”

Sharon, no longer horrified, but rather confused, could only ask, “How many USO girls?”

The blush deepened across his cheeks as he tried to deflect. “A couple.”

“Rogers,” Sharon screeched as she reached out and slapped his arm. “You dog!”

With her fears assailed, the hilarity of the situation finally sank in as she began laughing long and hard. Steve only watched as tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. She wiped at them as she hiccupped loudly, which set off a new round of laughter.

“That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard!” she choked out between wheezing breaths as she tried to get herself under control.

“Glad to know you find my sex life a source of amusement,” he deadpanned, though his lip was turned up into a smirk as he crossed his arms.

“It’s why I keep you around,” she jokingly assured him. “You make me laugh.”

“Good to know.”

Easy and companionable quiet settled in between the two, born out of their fight against Hydra months ago after a rocky two years of partnership. It was in this silence that the reminder of the wedding RSVP once again entered Sharon’s mind. She fiddled with the rings on her fingers as she glanced at Steve furtively.

Maybe…

“So,” she broached cautiously. “You said you’re hanging around for a while, right? You and Sam aren’t immediately heading back out to look for Barnes.”

Steve nodded unsuspectingly. “Couple weeks at the least. We both need a break.”

Excellent.

“So, that would mean you’re technically free to do me a massive favor.”

Steve immediately turned suspicious as he looked at her. “What kind of favor?”

Sharon shrugged nonchalantly as she stared down at her toes. “Like…being my plus one for Catherine’s wedding?”

Not her smoothest move, but it would have to do.

“Plus one?” Steve sputtered out, clearly not expecting that. Yeah, it had taken Sharon by surprise as well. But it’s all she had to work with.

“Yeah, well,” she began. “Neal was going to be my date, because, he was my boyfriend. But with him being Hydra and, you know, _dead_ , that’s a complete no-go.”

Steve couldn’t help but agree to that logic as Sharon continued. “Then Bri was going to be it, but now she’s out in the world ‘finding herself,’” Sharon did air quotes as she rolled her amber eyes. “Whatever that means. So I am dateless.”

“What’s wrong with going solo?” Steve asked, not seeing the problem that Sharon could so clearly see.  

“You’ve never met Mrs. Reyes,” she told him flatly. “Every time I see her she’s always trying to set me up with one of Catherine’s numerous Filipino cousins. It’s exhausting fending them off.”

Steve still seemed confused. “You can’t fight them off?”

Sharon chuckled as she shook his head. “I pick my battles, and ones against Mrs. Reyes are never worth it. If you do this, I will owe you for eternity.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve asked with a waggle of his eyebrows. “And what do I get in return?”

Sharon laughed as she pushed back his head. “The luxury of knowing that you are every bit the gentleman America believes you to be.”

“Oh, well,” Steve said with a smile. “In that case, how can I refuse?”

Sharon sighed in relief as she looked at the man with grateful eyes. “Thank you. You are a life savior.”

He shrugged easily. “It’s part of the job.”

Sharon’s smile grew as she looked down at her watch and caught sight of the time. “Crap. It’s been hours and I have work tomorrow. I should get going.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Steve said, jumping up to his feet. He offered her his hand and easily pulled her up as if she weighed nothing. Outside she could see how dark it was outside. Where had the time gone? It felt like they only been talking for minutes not hours.

She stopped in the middle of his living room, looking once again at the packed boxes neatly spread throughout the space. He was leaving and never coming back.

“So, this is it,” she remarked somberly, it finally settling in that he was indeed moving to New York. In the scheme of things, it wasn’t that far from DC, but it felt like a world away in the moment.

“I’m hardly here anymore,” Steve said as he followed her gaze. “What with chasing leads for Bucky and going after Hydra bases. Besides, with SHIELD gone, there’s not a lot keeping me here.”

Her stomach felt uneasy at his words, but she was sure it was just the copious amounts of Thai food she had consumed.  

“That’s fair,” she told him as she put on a brave face. “So, where will you go?”

“Tony offered me my floor at the Tower, so I’ll stay there for a bit. Thinking about checking out the real estate there.”

“What?” she asked curiously. “In Manhattan?”

He kept his eyes down and it finally clicked in her mind. “Ah, you mean Brooklyn.”

He shrugged lightly as he stuck his hands in his jean pockets. “Something to consider.”

“Well, that’s good,” Sharon replied genuinely. “Going home, I mean.”

If anyone deserved to go home again, it was Steve Rogers.

Steve huffed out an undecided laugh as he stared down at the boxes as if trying to convince himself. “Yeah, home.”

He turned towards Sharon, a twinge self-conscious as he asked, “You’ll visit, right?”

A broad smile split across her face as she nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Try keeping me away, Rogers.”

It was quiet as he walked her to his door, the two coming to a stop. With a little awkward start, she was able to pull him in for a tight hug. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, rubbing his back as she tucked her head into his shoulder.

He reciprocated in kind, arms squeezing her tight for a moment before releasing her. No one had ever told her how great his hugs were.

“I guess I’ll see you,” she quipped lightly as he opened the door for her.

“Bye, Sharon.”

“Bye, Steve.” She looked at him one final time before walking away, feeling his eyes on her back until she reached the stairs, disappearing out of sight.

 

* * *

 

 

**_August 13 th, 2014_ **

**_New York City_ **

****

 

The sun was bright as it shone down upon Steve as he and his Harley weaved expertly through traffic while crossing the Manhattan Bridge. Wind raked through his hair before rolling off his back. He had to admit, his heart was pounding with anticipation as New York stretched out before him, beckoning her wayward son home after so long.

To his right was his old friend, the Brooklyn Bridge, fanning out across the East River. Beyond, the numerous skyscrapers of Manhattan were reaching up towards the sky with their stunning architecture. The One World Trade Center stood taller than the rest as it reflected the surrounding city off its luminous windows.

Steve’s joy only increased as he drove off the bridge, entering the heart of Manhattan. Yellow taxis as far as the eye could see were zooming this way and that, braking and folding through traffic with reckless abandon in the hustle and bustle of New York traffic.

All around him was the welcome cacophony of beeping car horns, wailing ambulance sirens, and the jumble of conversation as New Yorkers hurried across pavement, pushing past oblivious tourists who were taking up precious sidewalk real estate with their slow gaits and eyes turned upwards towards the heavens. Beautiful people dressed in the cutting edge of fashion sashayed to and from. Businessmen with their polished suits and leather suitcases were barking into cell phones as they walked like gods. Eclectic bohemians in their brightly colored garb were on street corners with their guitars and drums.

In the air, Steve could smell the greasy scent of hot dogs and pretzels being sold by street vendors mixed with the multitude of smells of every foreign food imaginable. New York, as always was a melting pot of cuisine.   

A grin swept across Steve’s face as he maneuvered his way through the dense traffic, his bike meshing in between cars. Sooner than he wanted he was pulling up towards Avengers Tower. The metal and steel citadel was rising up high among its neighbors, the ‘A’ gleaming in the sunlight. The moving truck was already there as his meager belongings from DC were being unloaded by uniformed movers.

Waiting for him on the pavement was none other than Maria. Her heeled foot was tapping impatiently as he pulled up.

“You’re late,” she announced without fanfare.

Steve raised an eyebrow as he cut the engine and kicked out the stand. “I didn’t realize we were on a timetable.”

Maria shook her head disappointedly. “Steven, we’re always on a timetable.”

Her faux disgruntled expression disappeared as he swung off his Harley, shield hanging off his back. She smiled as she opened her arms expectedly.

“Bring it in, big guy.”

Steve complied, hugging his former SHIELD ally warmly as she loudly smacked a kiss to his cheek.

“How’s Tony treating you?” he inquired as he pulled away, chuckling at the testy look that crossed her face.

“If he calls me his PA one more time, I’m gonna kill him,” she threatened seriously and Steve would be a fool not to believe her.

“I’ll help you hide the body,” he promised because if there was one thing he had learned at SHIELD, it was always be on Maria Hill’s good side.

“You say the sweetest things,” she replied sincerely before eyeing his bike. She brought her fingers up to her mouth and whistled shrilly. It caught the attention of all the movers, meaning she had definitely done that before.

“Take the Harley to the private garage,” she directed at the nearest one as he nearly tripped over his feet to follow her commands. Oh, yeah, she had definitely done that before.

“Coming?” she asked to Steve as she began walking towards the front doors. Steve nipped at her heels as they bypassed security to enter the spacious and elegant lobby of what had once been the Metlife Building and was now currently a halfway home for superheroes.

With a nod to the front desk, the two made their way to the private elevators. The door swished open silently as the pair entered the elevator.

“Captain Rogers’ floor, Jarvis,” Maria matter-of-factly intoned as the elevator began its smooth ascent.

 _“Of course, Agent Hill.”_ Jarvis’ accented voice filled the space. _“Welcome back, Captain Rogers.”_

“Hi, Jarvis,” Steve greeted as he eyed the ceiling. “It’s…err, nice to see you again.”

Maria snorted and even Jarvis sounded amused as he responded, _“You as well, Captain.”_

Soon enough the elevator came to a stop on the 45th floor. Steve stepped out as Maria remained inside the car.

“Pepper’s expecting you for dinner in the penthouse,” Maria told him and he nodded once. He should have expected that Pepper would demand a housewarming get together.

“I’ll be there.”

Maria’s lips quirked up in a smile as the doors began closing. “Welcome home, Steve.”

And then she was gone, leaving him all alone and with an entire floor of a skyscraper to himself.

“Yeah,” he murmured as he ventured farther inside. “Home sweet home.”

When Tony had first made up the floor for him, he had been worried about how it would look. His and Tony’s personal tastes were as far apart as anything could be. But yet, Tony (or most likely Pepper) had been tasteful when designing the space for the super-soldier. It was a blend of modern and rustic that suited Steve about as well as anything in this century did.

The far wall of his living room was a deep, rich mahogany filled with shelves of old fashioned knick-knacks that was meant to be symbolic of Steve’s past with black and white pictures of Brooklyn and records of artists he had enjoyed listening to as a punk. Sleek black couches and sitting chairs were strategically placed and his coffee table was the trunk of a sturdy oak.

It was a space he could have never imagined living in way back in 1930s Brooklyn, but it was his new reality.

Most of his belongings from DC were already moved in, just waiting for him to unpack them. He tossed his shield on the couch and shrugged off his leather jacket and he got to work. Soon enough this place would feel as close to home as anything did nowadays.

Outside, New York flourished around him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, this was one of my favorite chapters to write. I love all of the different interactions between characters. And, yay, Blonde Squared is finally reunited! Aren't things better when they're together? I think so. I'm gonna keep my note short because a lot of photos are coming your guys' way.
> 
> Thank you so much for the previous reviews! I love hearing from you guys and would love any feedback you have for this newest chapter. Please, please, please review! Kind words are so motivating. 
> 
> Pic time! 
> 
> Sharon visiting Peggy:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/41853319502/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Sharon catching up with Steve:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/41853319622/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/41853319682/in/dateposted-public/)   
> 
> 
>  Steve visiting with Sharon:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/41853319412/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Steve arriving in New York:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/41853319292/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Maria waiting for Steve:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/41853319722/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Avengers Tower lobby:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/40088958300/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Steve's living room in the Tower:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/40088957980/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/40088958030/in/dateposted-public/)   
> 
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/40088958110/in/dateposted-public/)   
> 
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/40088958200/in/dateposted-public/)   
> 
> 
>  Steve's bedroom at the Tower:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/41896085711/in/dateposted-public/)


	19. I Don't Need a Man to Be Holding Me Too Tight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you supposed to wait until the bachelorette party to get drunk?” he asked.
> 
> Sharon shook her head, “I’m pre-gaming. I’m going to need all the alcohol I can get if I’m going to make it through this party.”

**_August 27 th, 2014_ **

**_Avengers Tower_ **

****

Night was rapidly falling, the speckled and flickering lights of neighboring skyscrapers lighting up the sky as the city that never sleeps came to life around him. Ready for a night out, Steve was most definitely not. He settled further into his couch, feet kicked up on the coffee table, TV remote in hand as he lazily flipped through the channels.

Who knew that with more than a 1000 available stations and there still wouldn’t be anything interesting playing on TV?

The future was a weird place.

He raised his head as he heard the click of heels behind him.

“What do you think?” a very female voice asked him. He turned his head, completely unprepared for the sight of Sharon looking so… _female._

A formfitting blue dress clung to her slender body, hugging her in all the right places. Gladiator sandals snaked up her shapely legs, ending right before her kneels. The heels gave the alluring effect of making her long legs appear as if they went on for miles. Her blonde hair was in an immaculate bun atop her head. Her tan skin was sun-kissed and smooth as it gave off an ethereal glow.

She looked good, more than good.

Had it suddenly gotten hot in here?

“Wow,” he murmured appreciatively as she did an excruciating slow turn, letting the whole look sink in. He gulped as she faced him, a coy grin crossing her face.

“Good answer,” she praised as she sauntered towards the kitchen, hips swaying back and forth all the while.

“Thanks for letting me crash here,” she called over her shoulder as she made a beeline for his massive island. “This is way better than Catherine and Jessie’s couch.”

“No problem,” he answered, watching with a quizzical expression as she pulled out a vodka bottle from one of his cabinets. Odd. The only alcohol he had in his apartment was some beer in the fridge and an unopened bottle of Bushmills whiskey, a housewarming gift from Tony. She placed it down before going to his cabinets and began rooting around for shot glasses.

She stood on her tiptoes, tongue sticking out in concentration as she reached around blindly on the shelf above her.

“Aha!” Sharon victoriously crowed as her hand wrapped around them. She set two out on his countertop. His kitchen was pristinely white, with sleek lines and design. It had a touch of rustic with the butcher block counters made of dark walnut and a row of copper lights running above them.

Sharon undid the cap, pouring a generous helping of vodka into both glasses. She flung one back, wincing as the alcohol went down cleanly. She shook her head as she poured more vodka into the empty glass.

“Shot?” she asked him, holding up the other glass. He raised an eyebrow as he stood, joining her at the island.

“You know I can’t get drunk,” he reminded her, taking the glass nonetheless.

“Don’t let that stop you,” Sharon told him as she knocked her full glass against his and swigged down the drink. She smacked her lips loudly together as she slammed the glass down on the countertop. Steve followed her lead, feeling the alcohol burn smoothly as it went down his throat. He felt the warmness of the alcohol sweep through his system only for a moment before the serum kicked in, killing any buzz lurking in the booze.

“Where’d you get the vodka?” he inquired as he reached for the bottle, examining it skeptically. He found it hard to believe that Sharon would have lugged this all the way from DC. It wasn’t even that good.

“I raided Natasha’s floor earlier,” Sharon breezily explained. “I found it in her AC unit.”

Steve stared at her in disbelief, not knowing if he was just hearing things. She had to be kidding, right? There were just somethings you never did in this life. Stealing from Natasha Romanoff was at the top of the list. Surely, Sharon was just yanking his chain.

“You know you’re a dead woman walking, don’t you?” he solemnly warned her when he realized she was serious. He wouldn’t even be surprised if Natasha – wherever she was in the world – already knew of the transgression and was plotting Sharon’s demise as they spoke. Knowing his luck, he’d have to give the eulogy at Sharon’s funeral. He’d be tasteful about it, keep the mocking to a minimum.

Sharon waved him off as she grabbed the bottle from him, pouring another shot. “When’s the last time she was even here? I’ll restock before I head back to DC.”

“If you say so,” he remarked as he watched her drink the shot. He was a bit fuzzy on the effects of alcohol – seeing as it did nothing for him – but he was pretty sure she was hitting the bottle just a little too hard.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you supposed to wait _until_ the bachelorette party to get drunk?” he asked.

Sharon shook her head. “I’m pre-gaming. I’m going to need all the alcohol I can get if I’m going to make it through this party.”

Steve’s brows furrowed as he frowned pensively. “Why’s that?”

Sharon snorted, a derisive look crossing her face as she glared at him. “Because Rachel-"

“Ah, yes,” he interrupted her with a nod. “I had forgotten. We hate Rachel.”

“Yes, Steve.” She pointed at him approvingly as she poured another shot. “Yes, we do.”

Just as she raised the glass to her lips, her cellphone lit up with an incoming text. The blonde sighed as she reached for the phone. She swiped across the screen and read the text.

“They’re here.” She sighed despondently, lips pulled together in a pout. “I have to go.”

She downed the final shot before tipsily collecting her purse. Steve walked her to the elevators, hand stuffed in his pockets.

“I’ll be here all night,” he told her as the doors whished opened and she stepped into the car. “If you need me, don’t hesitate to call.”

Sharon grinned largely, cheeks already flushed prettily with the fizz of liquor. “Thanks, Steve. But I should be fine.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, unconvinced. Sharon only waved him off as the doors swished shut.

 _“To the lobby, Agent Carter?”_ Jarvis politely inquired, omnipresent as ever.

“Yes, thank you, Jarvis.”

The elevator effortlessly began to descend and moments later came to a halt. As soon as the doors opened, Sharon was stepping out into the glittering, lavish space. It was quiet and nearly empty with the hustle and bustle of SI employees gone due to the later hours. Standing near the doors were a group of 15-20 women, all beautiful and dressed for a night on the town.

“Sharon!” Catherine called out jubilantly across the lobby. She was a bridal image in a lacy dress and strappy heels. Sharon raised her hand to wave as she made her way over, heels clicking over the polished quartz floors.

“Hey, party people,” Sharon greeted before she was assaulted with an armful of Catherine, who wrapped her arms around Sharon, squeezing tight. Catherine was beaming as she pulled away. Sharon looked out at the collection of women, spying some of Catherine’s sorority sisters from NYU, law school cohorts from Columbia, a few of her new colleagues from the UN, and even their mutual friend from high school, Hannah Chang.

And of course…Rachel Bohlen.

Sharon’s eyes narrowed as she took in the sight of her arch-nemesis (completely in her head and one-sided). The vulture of a woman was in a tight dress, dyed blonde hair in waves and she was rocking a masterful smoky eye. The smile on her face was completely genuine as she nodded to Sharon.

That didn’t stop Sharon from hating her, just a little.

Rachel got everyone’s attention with a loud clap of her hands. “Alright, ladies,” she addressed the mob of women. “Let’s get this party on the road. The party bus should be here right about…”

A car horn honked as a long bus pulled up right to the front doors of Avengers Tower.

“Now,” Rachel announced with a sly grin as excited cheers and yells broke out through Catherine’s crew.

“Wow,” Catherine whispered in awe as she hurried forward, the women following behind her like sheep.

Sharon could only stare in disbelief. “You have got to be joking,” she muttered before following at a much more sedate pace.

She stepped out into the night and boarded the bus. The vehicle was bathed in hypnotic, flashing purple light. The booming bass of club music echoed throughout the limited space, making it feel like they were in a mobile club. A disco ball was hanging down, orbiting in place. And to top it off, there were two stripper poles.

Of course, there was.

“And off we go!” Rachel crowed as everyone found their seats on the long, winding benches. Sharon couldn’t help but notice that Rachel had claimed the coveted spot at Catherine’s side. The bus took off down 45th Street as the mob gave a loud huzzah, music blaring throughout the confined space.

“Ladies!” Rachel yelled, getting everyone’s attention as she stood. “I think what we need to liven this night up is some champagne!”

She produced a bottle of bubbly as exalted roaring erupted throughout the bus. Rachel succeeded in popping the cork as it went flying, pinging throughout the vehicle and nearly nailing Sharon in the forehead. Thank God for her spy instincts. The vulture poured the champagne into glasses, passing them around to the group of women.

“A toast!” Rachel spiritedly declared with a wild wave of her arms as she held her glass high. “To the bride!”

“To the bride!” Thunderously echoed back as Catherine prettily blushed, a broad smile on her face.  

“May she and her groom live happily ever after and wholesomely, but…let the sex always be dirty.”

Giggles loudly reverberated through the bus as Sharon struggled to stop her eyes from rolling out of her head. She kept a firm smile on her face as she clinked her glass with her neighbors and downed the champagne in a single gulp.

There wasn’t enough alcohol in the world for this.

“And now,” Rachel continued, because really, when would she ever be done talking? “I have a bit of a present for our bride-to-be.”

She pulled out a gift bag and with a fancy flourish presented Catherine with a sparkly white ‘bride-to-be’ sash and a dinky plastic tiara with a mini-veil attached to it.

“You guys!” Catherine cooed, standing up to be adorned with her new accessories. “I love this so much!”

Sharon huffed, slumping back in her seat like a reticent child. Even if she had devoted her entire time to planning this party, it would never have looked like this. This…was something else entirely. She hated to admit it, but Rachel had definitely delivered. This was a bachelorette party to end all bachelorette parties.

Sharon remained stubbornly seated as the bus turned left onto 7th Avenue, right at the heart of Time Square. Everyone immediately squished themselves at the window, as if this was the first time ever seeing the tourist trap.

Sharon did have to admit, the lights were mesmerizing as the bus meandered on through the famous intersection. The music got cranked louder as dancing commenced throughout the bus. Sharon couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow when Catherine took a spin at one of the poles. When had she gotten so flexible?

The bus continued cruising through Midtown before coming to a stop outside a ritzy club. The women filed off of the bus, buzzing with energy, Rachel and Catherine in the lead and Sharon the reluctant caboose.

The club was dark and loud with psychedelic strobe lights flashing every other second. A thick sea of bodies was gyrating against one another, bodies glistening hotly with sweat. On the stage, an Adonis of a man and naked from the chest up to boot was dancing. Sharon was fairly certain his pants would be going soon.

“Let’s get this girl a lap dance!” Rachel yelled, slinging her arm around Catherine as the mob of women cheered. Sharon watched as they shoved their way through the crowd, moving farther and farther away from her. With a shake of her head, the blonde headed to the bar.

Alcohol. She needed alcohol. Lots of it.

“A daiquiri,” she said to the bartender as she seated herself. She pulled the drink towards her when it was seat down and took a generous swig. The booming music was so loud she could feel her heart vibrating in time to the beat as she sat at the bar.

She didn’t know how much time had passed, but she had decimated two daiquiris and was now on a Manhattan and beginning to feel the liquor affecting her. Her head was just a _little_ fuzzy and suddenly the world around her was just a little bit funnier than it had been hours ago.

“Hey, sweetheart.” a silky sweet voice announced as a body dropped down into the open spot next to her. Sharon glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and immediately knew who she was dealing with. Oily and slicker than grease was the smarmy man eyeing her not so subtly. She knew his kind, he was, hitting up a male strip club, looking to prey on bachelorette parties. She imagined he was also the same man who went to gay clubs as a way to pick up women.

Ugh.

Men like him were the absolute worst.

“How you doin’?”

Sharon snorted into her drink as she continued sipping it. “Not interested,” she told him, eyes set ahead. If she ignored him long enough he would probably go away, looking for the next flower to pollinate.

He chuckled lowly as he looked at her. “Not interested, huh?”

She tensed as he reached out, arm wrapped around her wrist and moved it towards him. She really shouldn’t have been surprised when he placed it in his lap to feel the developing bulge downstairs. “How does that feel, baby?”

Yep, the absolute worst.

With quick reflexes, she pulled back her hand and landed a brutal dick punch right to his treasured jewels. He let out an agonized groan as he bent over in pain. Sharon remained primly seated as she picked up her glass, nonchalant as ever.

“About as good as that, _baby,_ ” she told him before finishing off her drink. She didn’t even watch as he slithered away in defeat, melting away into the crowd to lick his wounds elsewhere.

“Another Manhattan,” she told the bartender when he passed by her. She made grabby hands when it arrived and hoarded it as she drank it steadily. Her senses were turning upside down, so she wasn’t entirely prepared when someone clumsily barreled into her side.

“Sharon!” Catherine yelled, nearly sending both flying off Sharon’s stool as she wrapped her arms around the blonde. Sharon kept them in place, pushing Catherine back to take a look at her. Her cheeks were flushed with alcohol and she was definitely on the other side of tipsy as she giggled loudly at nothing.

“How’d the lap dance go?” Sharon asked as she positioned Catherine on the stool next to her.

“There was a lot of thrusting,” Catherine responded before bursting out into raucous laughter again. She was still laughing as she pulled Sharon’s cocktail towards her and began drinking it.

“That was mine,” Sharon complained lightheartedly. No matter how indifferent she was to this little shindig, she could never be upset with Catherine. The bride-to-be looked like she was having a great time, which was all that mattered.

Catherine shrugged lightly as her sash slipped down her shoulders. Her tiara was off center as it rested precariously atop her head.

“Now it’s mine. Where have you been?”

Sharon gestured to the bar in front of her. “Here. I like it here.”

“Boo.” Catherine pouted as she pointed to the right of Sharon. “You’re supposed to be having fun. You’re my Maid of Honor!”

As Sharon remained stone-faced, Catherine shook her head as she leaned in. “C’mon, Sharon, turn that frown upside down.” She reached forward, using her fingers to mess with Sharon’s lips to create a smile. “Let’s have some fun!”

Sharon raised a skeptical eyebrow as she slapped Catherine’s hands away. “What kind of fun?” she asked suspiciously.

Catherine’s lips pulled up into a troublesome smirk. “Do you remember Spring Break ’07?”

“In Puerto Vallarta?” Sharon asked, racking her drunk-riddled brain for answers. Catherine nodded and suddenly the memories came flying back.

That had been a hell of a spring break.

“That was a lot of fun,” Sharon murmured, smiling at the memories. She looked at Catherine for a long moment before grinning. She could hate Rachel all she wanted, but she and Catherine were rock solid.

Nothing would stop that.

So, it was time to stop sulking like a baby.

“Alright, Kit-Kat,” Sharon said devilishly. “Let’s have some fun.”

 

+++

 

“I just don’t get it,” Steve said into his phone as he stared at the TV bemusedly. “So they’re inside a dream…inside of a dream?”

 _“Inside of another dream. Three levels, Steve. Keep up,"_ Sam impatiently responded.

“Huh,” Steve mused as he munched on some popcorn. “But why does his wife keep showing up?”

_“She’s not real, Steve. How many times do I have to tell you this? She’s his guilty conscience.”_

“Right,” Steve replied. “Because of the spinning top. Why is it spinning again?”

 _“Ugh!”_ Sam moaned on the line. _“You are the worst, you know that, right? The absolute worst.”_

Steve shrugged. “Don’t blame me. You chose this movie. I wanted to watch _Jaws._ ”

_“And now I’m severely regretting it. You’re messing with me, aren’t you? You’re freakin’ Captain America. There’s no way you don’t understand what’s happening.”_

Steve smirked as he leaned back into the couch. “You’ll never know.”

He could feel Sam gearing up for another tirade, his fifth for this movie when his phone beeped with an incoming call.

“Hold up,” he told Sam. “I have another call.”

He looked down the screen and raised an eyebrow when he saw Sharon’s name flashing before him. His instant reaction was worry. She hadn’t seemed like herself when leaving for Catherine’s bachelorette party. Maybe something had happened. Hopefully, she hadn’t gotten into a fight with anyone.

“Sorry, Sam,” Steve apologized. “Sharon’s calling me. I need to check in with her.”

 _“No problem,"_ Sam told him. _“Though we will be finishing this conversation another day.”_

“I’m counting on it. See you.” He hung up before accepting Sharon’s call.

“Sharon?”

 _“Um, hi?”_ a female voice who was definitely _not_ Sharon answered instead as Steve’s hackles went up, slipping into Captain America mode easily. Something wasn’t right.

“Who is this?” he asked tersely, already up and on his feet.

_“This is Rachel Bohlen. I’m an acquaintance of Sharon’s.”_

Steve momentarily deflated as he realized who he was talking to. _Rachel._

He and Sharon hated Rachel. For whatever reason. He couldn’t really remember.

“Hi,” he said after a moment, still concerned by the fact that Rachel was talking to him and not Sharon. “You planned Catherine’s bachelorette party.”

 _“I did!”_ the woman exclaimed cheerfully. _“That’s actually why I’m calling. Sharon and Catherine are…well, let’s just say they’re beyond the point of appropriately drunk.”_

Steve’s brows furrowed as he tried to understand exactly what Rachel was attempting to tell him.

“Excuse me?”

Rachel sighed as she dropped the pretenses and became bluntly honest. _“Look, Sharon and Catherine are going to get us thrown out of here. I can’t persuade them and when I asked who could come pick them up, Sharon flung her phone at me with your number pulled up. So, I’m calling you. Can you please come and pick them up?”_

Silence.

And then…

“Yeah,” Steve finally said as he ran a hand through his hair. “I’m on my way. What’s the address?”

Rachel rattled it off and Steve promised to be there shortly before hanging up. He stood in his apartment for a moment, trying to work through this scenario he had never seen coming. When he came up empty, he only shrugged, threw on a jacket and baseball cap, grabbed his keys and headed to the elevator.

 _“Going out, Captain Rogers?”_ Jarvis asked him as the elevator began descending.

Steve shook his head as she shoved his hands in his pockets. “Unfortunately.”

The elevator came to a stop at the lobby and Steve stepped out. He pulled up the collar of his jacket as he walked outside into the cool night breeze. Raising a hand, it was easy to flag down a yellow taxi. He gave them the address and sat silently as the taxi whizzed him through the city.

He gulped as the car came pulled up the club. Mustering up some of his legendary courage he made his way inside to the club, the party atmosphere smacking him in the face. Music pounded through his skull, nearly driving him insane as he squeezed past dancing bodies.

It didn’t take him long to find Sharon and Catherine.

They were dancing provocatively atop the bar, much to the bartenders’ chagrin. A crowd had gathered, cameras out as they cheered the two women on.

“Oh boy,” he said to himself as he watched the chaotic scene.

He now knew what Rachel had contacted him.

When Sharon nearly toppled off the bar as she spun wildly, he quickly pushed his way through the burgeoning crowd.

“Sharon!” he called out through the ear-splitting noise. Somehow the blonde heard him from her spot. Her eyes widened happily as she saw him.

“Steve!” she yelled before giggling as she teetered his way. “What are you doing here?”

“Rachel called me. It’s time to call it a night.”

Rachel – at least he thought he was Rachel – sidled up to him, handing over Sharon and Catherine’s purses as she pursed her lips, looking disappointed by the demise of her own party.

“Noooo.” Sharon pouted from her perch on top of the bar. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Sharon,” he got out through gritted teeth as he held out his hand to her. “We’re leaving.”

“Only if you can catch me.” She popped back up and made to shimmy away from him. However, the heels of her boots tripped her up as she stumbled and fell off the bar. It was Steve’s quick moves that saved her from disaster. He caught her before throwing her over his shoulders in a classic firearm hold.

“Stop squirming,” he told her as she weakly tried to fight him, long legs flailing about madly as she twisted and turned.

“I hate you.” She childishly pouted as she finally went pliant and stopped struggling. He only rolled his eyes as he turned back to the bar, looking for Catherine. When she swooped past him, he snagged her ankle and tugged her down from the bar. Not trusting her to walk, he used his free arm to pick her up, holding her limply like a kitten.

They were quite the sight as he maneuvered the three of them out of the club. He flagged down a cab and got the women inside, though it was like herding cats. They were babbling to one another when he finally slipped in next to Sharon. He looked up, meeting his driver’s eyes who was watching the scene with interest.

“They belong to you, buddy?” He nodded to the two women and clearly had some ideas about them. Steve felt a protective growl building inside of him as he pulled off his jacket and tossed it over the two women, covering them with the only shield he had on him.

“200 Park Avenue.” he barked out with stern eyes. The driver quickly turned away and got down to business. Steve sighed as he sank back in his chair, looking at the two women who were all but passed out in the backseat.

What a way to end the night.

 

* * *

 

 

**_August 28 th, 2014_ **

**_Avengers Tower_ **

****

Everything hurt.

That was the first thought Sharon had as she struggled to consciousness. her body felt terrible as she blinked her eyes opened before moaning pitifully when the morning light assaulted her. Her head was pounding like a jackhammer going to town in her brain.

What the hell had happened last night?

When she was finally ready to open her eyes again she found herself in the last place she expected to be…her designated guest bedroom on Steve’s floor of the Avengers Tower. She was sprawled across the bed on her stomach, still clothed in her dress and one of her gladiator boots. The other was discarded haphazardly on the floor. A blanket had been thoughtfully placed over her, keeping her warm throughout the night.

Sharon was very confused as she raised her head. She brightened up when she saw a glass of water on her nightstand next to two tablets of aspirin.

“Thank God,” she muttered sluggishly to herself as she slowly crawled to the top of her bed. She threw back the aspirin before downing the entire glass of water in one massive gulp. Her head was still palpitating painfully as she sat up. She slowly reached forward and after missing the zipper a few times, was able to tug it down as she undid her boot. She threw it to the side before attempting to stand.

“Whoah!” she whimpered as the world spun around her madly. She was able to remain standing, but just barely. Her stomach rolled ominously, warning her that if she wasn’t careful, she’d be making a trip to the bathroom.

She stumbled to the nearest mirror and nearly let out a scream when she saw herself. It…was not a pretty sight. Her mascara had smeared mightily so that she now resembled a raccoon more than anything else. Her hair was still in a bun, though half of it had fallen out and was tangled from a night of tossing and turning.

Yikes. This was so not a good look for her.

With a howl of misery, Sharon turned away and wandered out of her room, grabbing a hoodie along the way. She padded uneasily into the living room and was surprised when she saw Catherine laying face down on the couch. Her tiara and veil was still resting atop her head and her sash was slipping off her shoulders as she lay stretched out. Her mouth was open, drool dripping down her chin as one leg was entirely off the couch.

Well, it was nice to know she wasn’t alone in her despair.

Sharon turned and saw Steve hard to work in the kitchen. She walked his way, all but throwing herself down onto one of the stylish black stools.

“Good morning,” he greeted her cheerfully, a chipper smile set on his face as he turned towards her. Sharon immediately flinched at the noise.

“Please stop yelling,” she fussed as she reached up to massage her temples. Steve chuckled quietly to himself before taking pity on the blonde. He set down a mug of steaming hot coffee and pushed it her way.

She immediately raised the mug and drank from it, moaning in pleasure as the coffee was just as she liked it. He went back to work as Sharon watched him idly. It looked like he was preparing food for a small army. Toast, eggs, bacon, and waffles were all cooking away as he micromanaged them. The greasy smells wafted through Sharon’s nostrils as she stared at the food longingly.

“That’s a lot of food,” she remarked as she gingerly patted her stomach. There was no way she wasn’t eating this feast, she just hoped her tummy would keep it all down. It looked too good to waste.

“Hangover cure,” Steve matter-of-factly told her. “Or so Sam tells me. It should be done soon.”

She glanced back at Catherine who was still completely out. “Why’s Catherine on the couch?”

Steve shrugged as he flipped an egg in a hot skillet. “I tried putting her in a guest bedroom, but she kept getting up and wandering around like an over-energized toddler. She finally tanked out on the couch. I figured it was best to just leave her there.”

“Right,” Sharon murmured as she tried to fill in the blanks from the night before. “How did we get here?”

“Rachel called me,” Steve replied. “You guys were pretty out of it. Do you remember anything?”

Sharon’s eyes narrowed in fierce concentration as she tried to remember. She remembered shots with Steve, the party bus, the strip club, then her and Catherine…

Oh no.

Now she remembered. Particularly when Steve had shown up.

“Oh no,” she cried out as more memories came flashing in. Memories of some serious groping on her part towards the super-soldier when the three had been in the elevator. She had been rather riveted by his butt if she was remembering correctly. “Shit, shit, shit, _shit.”_

“Coming back to you is it?” Steve asked with a teasing grin as he looked at her over his shoulder. Shoulders that had carried Sharon around like a bag of flour the night before.

“Fuck,” she cursed as she rubbed her forehead, eyes earnest as she looked imploringly at Steve. “I am so sorry! I didn’t-I don’t even, I can’t believe…” she trailed off helplessly, not knowing how to proceed.

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve assured her with an amused smile. “It took me back to my USO days. In fact, between you and Catherine, you were the least handsy. The bride-to-be, however, has a mean pinch. She held on to my butt for a solid minute.”

Sharon, only raised an eyebrow as she sipped her coffee. “I bet that’s not the only thing she held onto.”

Steve choked on air, cheeks flushing red before he glared at her across the butcher block island. “A gentleman never tells.”

Sharon snorted but kept quiet as she drank her coffee. The only sound between the two was the sizzling of Steve’s cooking. It was peaceful, allowing the ache of her migraine to dull and not be so forceful.

“Catherine’s fiancé is named Jessie right?” Steve asked her out of the blue. Sharon blinked owlishly before nodding.

“Yeah, why?”

“He called earlier on Catherine’s cell phone. He was worried that she hadn’t come home,” Steve explained as toast popped out of the toaster. “I told him she was safe here and that he was welcomed to join us for breakfast. He’s on his way.”

“Spectacular,” Sharon muttered. A groan cut through them as – speak of the devil – Catherine came back into the land of the living. She was just as messy as Sharon as she slowly sat up, tiara falling off her head.

“My head hurts,” she complained with closed eyes.

“Welcome to the club, Kit-Kat,” Sharon called out, smiling to herself when Catherine cringed at the noise.

“Where am I?” Catherine questioned as she wobbly stood like a newborn calf. She lurched her way to the counter, dropping into the seat next to Sharon.

“We’re at Steve’s apartment. He brought us here last night.”

Catherine’s eyes widened as she stared at Steve, trying to place him, and finally remembering who exactly he was.

“Shit!” she breathed out as her head banged down on the counter, avoiding the super-soldier’s gaze. “I can’t believe this is how I meet Captain America, drunk as a skunk.”

Steve waved her off. “Just call me Steve.”

Catherine groaned, and taking mercy on her, Sharon reached out and petted her hair, running her fingers through Catherine’s long tresses.

“Jessie’s on his way,” Sharon informed her friend. “We’re all going to have breakfast.”

Catherine slowly turned her head so Sharon could see her eyes. “I look like a hot mess. He can’t see me this way.”

“Yes, I agree,” Sharon told her. “Which is why we’re going to shower. You can borrow some of my clothes. Okay?”

Catherine moaned but nodded. It took some work, but eventually, the two were on their feet as Sharon led her to a spare bedroom with an ensuite bathroom. She left Catherine some spare clothes of hers before making her way to her own guest bedroom. She stripped off the tight dress, finally able to breathe when it was gone.

She set the water to hot and sighed in ecstasy when she slipped in beneath the spray of water. She felt instantly better as the water fell down her shoulders. She just stood for a long time in the shower as the water dripped down. Eventually, she washed away the ickiest of the night before and felt human again when she emerged. Her headache was nearly gone and she no longer felt nauseous.

She quickly dressed in jeans, a silk cami with a cardigan thrown over the top. She put her wet hair up in a ponytail and made her way back to the living room.

Catherine was already out and seated next to her at Steve’s rustic dining room table was Jessie, who seemed completely star-struck with the Avenger across from him.  

“Wow,” Jessie murmured, blue eyes wide in amazement as he stared at Steve as if he was some kind of science experiment (he wasn’t really wrong). “I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

Sharon rolled her eyes as she seated herself next to Steve. “Stop staring, Jessie. You’ll give Catherine the wrong idea.”

Jessie scowled at her for ruining his street cred with Captain America. “I don’t swing that way.”

His eyes quickly across to a bemused Steve. “But if I did, you would be at the top of my list.”

Steve blinked before nodding once. “Thanks. I think.”

“Please,” Catherine cut in before things could get any weirder than they already were. “Let’s just eat.”

Everyone dug into the mounds of food Steve had prepared. Sharon had to admit, as she nibbled on an omelet, Steve wasn’t half bad as a chef. The quartet conducted polite conversation, dutifully ignoring any talk of the bachelorette party, as they ate.

It wasn’t until breakfast was beginning to wind down that the weirdness had to come back.

“So,” Jessie interjected as he looked at Steve. “Catherine tells me you’re coming to our nuptials next month.”

Steve – who was chewing on bacon – nodded as he glanced at Sharon. “Sharon invited me. I’m looking forward to it. I haven’t been to a wedding since…1937, I think.”

Jessie just had to keep digging as he asked curiously. “So, how long have you two been together?”

Sharon dropped her fork in surprise as she realized Jessie was gesturing to her and Steve. Her eyes were comically wide as she stared from Jessie to Steve and then right back to Jessie. She was too hungover for this nonsense.

“Oh.” She stumbled erratically as she tried course correcting. “We’re not…we’re co-workers.”

“Former co-workers,” Steve supplied helpfully because it was the truth. SHIELD was long gone.  

“Yes, yes,” Sharon parroted hysterically. “Former co-workers. We’re friends.”

“Good friends,” Steve chimed in, glancing at her out of the corner of his eyes.

“Pals, buddies,” Sharon rang off quickly in an attempt to halt this conversation. “You know, friends.”

“Oh.” Jessie looked both surprised and uncomfortable as he buttered his toast. “Uh…wow, my bad. It’s just Kitty had told me that Captain Rogers-“

“Please,” Steve cut in. “Call me Steve.”

Jessie looked over the moon to be calling Steve by his first name but soldiered on to explain himself. “…Steve was coming as your plus one. I just assumed…”

“Well, we know what happens when one assumes, darling.” Catherine interrupted, looking vastly embarrassed as she elbowed her fiancé in the side. “Don’t mind Jessie, he’s the pretty one in this relationship.”

Jessie glared as he rubbed his side. “I’m studying to be a cardiothoracic surgeon.”

“Well, that takes brains doesn’t it?” Catherine asked with tight lips. “So use your brains and stop burying us in the hole.”

“Waffles anyone?” Steve politely held up the plate and just like that the conversation came to an end. However, breakfast remained an awkward affair. Sharon forcibly kept her eyes on her plate, even when she felt Steve looking at her periodically.

Honestly, all she wanted was to back to sleep.

She was too hungover for this.

 

* * *

 

 

**_August 29 th, 2014_ **

**_Avengers Tower_ **

****

Luckily for Sharon, waking up the next morning was a much more pleasant affair. She was completely refreshed as she opened her eyes. She stretched out in her king bed, lazing about for a bit before finally getting up. She threw on a robe and dug her feet into comfy slippers before heading to the kitchen.

It was quiet and empty. She ventured to the island and saw a note resting innocuously on the butcher block counter.

_Went for a run. Be back soon._

_~ SR_

_P.S. Left coffee heating in the pot._

Sharon turned her head and grinned when she saw said coffee. She waltzed through the kitchen, grabbing a mug and pouring herself a plentiful serving. She added in some creamer and sighed happily once she sipped the caffeine goodness, feeling the warmth curl throughout her body.

She was halfway through her cup when the elevator dinged and moments later Steve walked in.

“Hey,” she greeted him, taking in his tight running clothes as he breezed past her towards the cabinets.

“Morning,” he replied as he pulled out a glass and made a beeline for the fridge. He got ice and water and neatly chugged the contents of the glass before going back for seconds.

“How was your run?” she asked, noting that his hair was wet with sweat and that his obscenely small shirt was stained with sweat spots.

“Good,” he told her as he leaned back against the counter. “I did some laps around Central Park.”

She watched as Steve soundly cracked his neck before grabbing the end of his shirt and pulling it up as he bent his head, using the cloth to blot at the sweat on his forehead. The maneuver offered a perfect view of his killer six-pack, slick with sweat.

Like some kind of sick Pavlovian response, Sharon’s tongue darted out to lick her lips as she stared at the sight.

_I want to lick his abs._

The thought entered her head instantly and without consent, slamming into her like a tidal wave.

Wait. _What?!?_

She choked on her drink, the hot coffee burning her tongue as she spluttered wildly. Steve watched her with wide, innocent eyes as he dropped his shirts, hiding his stomach from view.

“Sharon,” he said concernedly as she struggled to regain control of herself. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she squeaked unconvincingly as she purposefully avoided his gaze. “It just…went down the wrong pipe.”

Steve arched an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Sharon stared down into her coffee glass, completely turned asunder by that blasted little thought. She didn’t even know why she was fixating on it so much. Steve was the second most attractive man she had ever met (the first being Thor, of course). He had a nice body, it didn’t mean anything that she had noticed, right?

Right?

“ – Sharon.”

“What?” she asked as her head snapped up, catapulting her out of her crazy spiraling thoughts.

Steve watched for her a moment. “Did you not hear anything I just said?”

Sharon blinked as she bit her lip guiltily. “Sorry. W-What did you say?”

Steve just shook his head. “I said Maria called earlier, she wants you to come down to her office when you have a chance.”

Sharon nodded quickly, glad for that out. “Right. Well…I best get to that.”

She set down her mug and quickly shuffled out of the kitchen before the situation could get any worse. She went to her room, dressing quickly in jeans and a wrap top before busying herself with packing for her evening flight back to DC. When she exited her room, she could hear the distant sounds of showering hailing from Steve’s bedroom.

Yep. Perfect time to go before her brain could screw up again.

She hurried to the elevators and rode down to the 30th floor of the Tower where SI offices were located. She walked through the long hallways, feeling underdressed in comparison to the business attire of those around her.

She found Maria’s office empty and settled inside, ready to wait for her onetime coworker. It was a sophisticated blend of stone and wood, much like the rest of Avengers Tower. As she sat, fiddling with her thumbs, she was rewarded with a stunning view of the Empire State Building.

“There you are,” Maria announced as she breezed in, heels clicking as she walked. She was in a stylish black dress, looking every inch the badass she was as she sauntered towards her desk, dropping down into her seat gracefully. Her eyes narrowed as she surveyed Sharon.

“You’re not hungover,” she said, a hint of disappointment in her voice as she frowned. “Steve said you were hungover.”

“I was hungover yesterday,” Sharon lightly corrected. 

Maria rolled her eyes, “A pity. I always enjoy mocking you when you’re in distress.”

“You’re a true friend, you know that?” Sharon volleyed back sarcastically, mouth turning up in a smirk as the two women traded good-natured looks. When the moment past, Sharon made herself comfortable as she allowed herself to look around.

It was different, seeing Maria outside SHIELD.

But the change seemed to be doing her good.

“So, how you liking the new job?” she asked because she couldn’t imagine how Maria could go from SHIELD to Tony Stark.

“It has its advantages,” Maria told her as she crossed her legs. “I’m not being shot at on a daily basis. That’s been lovely. Ooh, the dental insurance is so much nicer than SHIELD’s, I just had my teeth whitened actually.”

She smiled, giving Sharon a full view of her dazzling white teeth. The blonde couldn’t help but nod approvingly. The two were interrupted from their chitchat when a knock sounded at the door and an angelic young man poked his head. He had cherub cheeks, perfectly tousled blonde curls, eyes as deep as the ocean and plump, Cupid's bow lips.

“Ms. Hill,” he said with the tilt of a Danish accent. “I have the security reports for you.”

Maria held out her hand and the man came to her desk, giving them to her. He smiled politely to Sharon before departing. Sharon couldn’t help but watch him go.

“Oh yeah, and there’s that,” Maria stated smugly. “I’ve been really enjoying that.”

“What is _that_?” Sharon asked as she turned back towards Maria.

“That would be Han,” Maria told her with a wicked grin. “My personal assistant.”

“Wow,” Sharon whispered to herself.

“Hmmm.”

“That does look like a perk.”

“Oh, it is, trust me.” Maria winked, getting her silent message across perfectly.

“Damn,” Sharon swore. She was so jealous. The CIA had definitely not given her that as a bonus. All she had was paperwork.

“Indeed.”

“And who gifted you with that Scandinavian angel?” Sharon questioned. “Tony or Ms. Potts?”

“Oh, Pepper, for sure. You should see her PA. His name is Raphael. He’s _muy caliente._ ”

“I can imagine,” Sharon muttered to herself as she sank back into her chair. As fun as this was, she still didn’t know she was here.

“So,” she directed towards Maria. “What’s up?”

Maria watched her for a moment before coming to some kind of internal decision. She settled her hands on her desk, locking her fingers together as she looked at the blonde.

“I wanted to see if you were interested in a potential job opportunity-" 

Sharon groaned, throwing her head back exasperatedly. “A job? Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“I already have a job,” Sharon reminded her. “You were one of my references, remember?”

Maria’s eyes narrowed as she scowled. “Oh please, you hate your job.”

“I do not hate my job,” Sharon responded with a glare.

“Yeah?” Maria countered smoothly. “Then why do my sources at the CIA tell me you’ve been DOA ever since you got there? One mission in four months? You’re better than that.”

“Okay,” Sharon ran a hand through her hair. “So I’ve hit a bit of a snag with my boss.”

“Bridge?” Maria chuckled. “Yeah, he’s an asshole who hates SHIELD. You’ll never reach your full potential there with him.”

Sharon snorted derisively. “And I will here? At Stark Industries? What will I do, engage in a little corporate espionage?”

Maria bristled, always a company person at heart. “You know that there’s the business…and then there’s the _side_ business.”

Sharon rolled her eyes, feeling the pull of anger beneath her skin. “Yeah, your and Fury’s little grassroots efforts with SHIELD or whatever you’re calling it these days.”

Maria huffed out an annoyed breath. “We could use you. You have a skill set that’s rare.”

“I already told Fury that I’m done with SHIELD,” Sharon stated firmly. “I can’t, not after Hydra.”

“Sharon-"

“I appreciate you asking, Maria,” Sharon said, effectively closing the book. “But I have a job, and while it’s not desirable, I have to make an honest go of it.”

Maria sighed but nodded in defeat. “You know I had to ask.”

Sharon’s lip curled into a weak grin. “Yeah. It means a lot that you did.”

It was quiet for a moment before Maria broke it.

“Well, enough with that. Want a bagel? Let’s get a bagel.”

She stood and walked out before Sharon could agree. The blonde only smiled before standing and trailing after her determined friend.

 

* * *

 

 

**_August 30 th, 2014_ **

**_Langley, VA_ **

****

“Carter!” Bridge’s voice boomed throughout the bullpen. “In my office.”

Sharon exchanged looks with Greer and Izzy before jumping in and following orders. Bridge never liked being left waiting. She scurried inside, shutting the door behind her. She stood at his desk, awaiting instructions.

“Sir?” she asked when he remained silent.

He ignored her for a while longer before looking up at her contemplatively. “Have you ever been to Turkey?”

A flash of that ruined mission in Istanbul filtered through her mind, causing a chill to sweep up her spine.

_“The heads! The heads!”_

Her face remained neutral as she nodded.

“Good,” he told her briskly. “Because you’re going back.”

He tossed her a dossier as she caught it in surprise. She stared down at the file before her eyes darted back to her SO.

“Sir?”

“We have a defector there from the Army of Islam. He’s being held at Incirlik Air Base. You’ll fly out today and escort our new friend back here to the States. You keep him alive, you hear me?”

“This is a milk run,” she blurted out before she could stop herself. Her eyes slipped shut. She could slap herself for her stupidity.

Bridge frowned as he looked at her. “A mission is a mission. Would you rather I gave it to Mr. Cohen?”

“No!” Sharon yelled before snapping her mouth shut. “No, sir,” she repeated, much quieter.

“Good,” Bridge snapped, nodding towards the door. “Then go. Your plane leaves in three hours.”

Sharon bobbed her head and quickly left the office before she could do anything else to stick her foot in her mouth. As she gathered up her items she felt a thrill of excitement shoot through her.

She always loved a mission, no matter how small. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I found it funny how everyone thought this chapter would be the wedding, but you can't have a wedding without a bachelorette party :) And now we have some strange, budding emotions in Sharon in regards to Steve. It'll be fun to see how she handles them, particularly if they keep popping up. We shall see how it goes. I had fun with Sharon and Catherine's drunken shenanigans. She and Catherine are a handful when together. 
> 
> Thank you for all the previous reviews! They are always a joy to receive. I'd love to hear any feedback you have for this chapter. 
> 
> Pic time:
> 
> Sharon's look for the bachelorette party:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/41520740704/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/27371637987/in/dateposted-public/)   
> 
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/41520741424/in/dateposted-public/)  
> img src="https://farm1.staticflickr.com/977/41520741424_19690eea66.jpg" width="467" height="500" alt="Boots" />
> 
> Catherine's bachelorette party look:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/41520741314/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Sharon's guest room at the Tower:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/40194883580/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Sharon eating breakfast:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/40194898740/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Sharon drinking coffee:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/40194898410/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Sharon visiting Maria:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/40194898180/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Maria's office:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/40194899150/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Maria's look:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/27371637827/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Maria's PA, Han:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/27371637927/in/dateposted-public/)


	20. We Need Love, but All We Want Is Danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Share-Bear!” she exclaimed with a mostly genuine smile as she turned to the minister. “Now that my Maid of Honor is here we can get on with the rehearsal, right?”
> 
> He nodded, still eyeing Sharon like she was some kind of alien.
> 
> Catherine clapped. “Amazing. Well, let’s get this show on the road. Our dinner reservations are calling our name.”

**_September 19 th, 2014_ **

**_Washington, D.C._ **

****

_Beep…beep…beep…_

It was late at night, darkness blanketing the sterile hospital room as a sliver of moonlight stole in through the closed windows. The only sounds permeating throughout the confined space were the pings of medical instruments and the slow, deep breaths of its lonely, single occupant.

He had been bedridden for months, stuck in a seemingly never-ending coma.

“Poor bastard,” the nurse on duty commented to herself as she slipped into the room. She flicked on the TV, letting it play as mindless background noise as she went about her patient’s nightly checks. She examined his bandages, they covered nearly every available space of skin on the man.

More than 70% of his body had been burned when those helicarriers came crashing out of the sky, destroying the Triskelion along with them.

The nurse had been on call when this poor soul had been carted into the ER. He was hardly distinguishable as a man, blending in with the charred debris more than anything else. Really, she was surprised he had lasted as long as he had. Everyone had expected him to die on the operating table, but he had lived, put into limbo in the medical coma he had been living in for months.

But would he ever wake up?

That was the question among the various doctors and nurses. Gossip was rife with it.

So caught up in checking his vitals, she didn’t even pay attention as the 11pm news played on the TV.

_“…a lot of speculation and conjecture still surrounds the horrific events that took place alongside the Potomac during the extremely visible fall of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division.”_

There was an almost invisible shift in the bed, but the nurse didn’t notice as she jotted down her notes on the patient’s chart, back turned to the cot.

_“…specifically around the death of one particular individual who seemed to be instrumental in orchestrating the attack: Secretary Alexander Pierce.”_

The shift came again. Legs stretching out and hands slowly clenching into fists as the occupant of the bed broke through his lengthy coma, roughly hurtling himself back into consciousness.

_Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep._

The nurse looked up in surprise, eyes widening as she saw the screens going into overdrive with new information and input.

The patient’s heart was beating a mile a minute.

That was impossible.

“What the hell,” she murmured in shock, whirling around to face the bed. She gasped when she saw two dark eyes glaring at her through the gauze wraps. She didn’t even have a moment to think when, in a flash, the man’s fist came speeding towards her. It collided with her face as she went flying back, collapsing to the linoleum floor in a heap.

The man in the bed wasted no time. He jumped up, ignoring the twinge of legs that hadn’t been stood on in months. He stumbled about as he methodically ripped out the various IVs and sensors attached to his person. His gown flapped about him loosely as he swaggered to the windows.

He tensed when he heard the warning bells begin going off on his floor.

People were going to come looking for him.

As if he’d ever give them the chance.

Wrapping the bedsheet around his fist, he punched out the window as glass went spraying everywhere. He poked his head out, noticing he was only three stories up.

Not ideal, but doable.

As he heard the heavy pound of feet hurrying to his room, he had his decision made. He all but threw himself out the window.

And just like that, Brock Rumlow disappeared into the night.

 

* * *

 

 

**_September 27 th, 2014_ **

**_New York City_ **

****

“Shit!”

Sharon couldn’t believe she lost him. She came to a screeching stop as she tried to catch her breath, ignoring the throbbing pain at her side. She pressed her hand there and was grimly unsurprised to see it coated in blood when she pulled it away.

She thought he had grazed her.

Wonderful.

“Do we have eyes on the target?” she barked into her comms as she stood alone in the empty hallway of the apartment complex. The suspect – a trained hitman with plans to take out the Mayor – had fled on foot when first confronted, not before firing a shot at her. After chasing him for more than five blocks, he had disappeared into a series of residential complexes, all of which were being raided by New York’s Finest.

And to think, she was technically on vacation.

The joke was on her.

 _“Negative, Agent Carter,” c_ ame crackling back through the line. _“No sign of the perp.”_

“Well find him,” she snapped as she breathed in deeply. She could feel the adrenaline beginning to wane, soon the pain of her wound would make itself known. She needed to find this asshole before that happened.

_“We have visual on the suspect.”_

Sharon’s head snapped up as the message was conveyed to her. “Where?”

_“Northwest corner, fifth floor. He’s taken refuge in an apartment there.”_

Sharon whirled around, looking down the hallway in the correct direction. “I’m on my way.”

She pulled out her gun, uncapping the safety before taking off running. She blitzed down the hallway, coming to a stop at a closed door. She needed to get in there. With a powerful kick, the door went flying off its hinges. She shoved her way into the small, seedy apartment.

Luckily for her, it was empty.

She hurried to the minuscule balcony overlooking a narrow alleyway. Across the way was the apartment building where the suspect was hiding. Sharon looked through windows avidly, trying to catch a glance at their gunman.

If only she could catch a glimpse of him… _there!_

A dark figure passed through a window, right on the fifth floor as had been relayed to her. She was on the sixth of the neighboring building. The windows aligned almost perfectly.

If she could just get over there…

A reckless, crazy idea entered her mind. It was insane, but insane was her only option at the moment. And if Steve could do something like this and still survive, why couldn’t she? Well, besides the fact that she wasn’t a super-soldier. Semantics. So with a fortifying breath, she backed up into the apartment.

“God help me,” she muttered to herself before taking off running. Still in motion, she jumped onto the balcony as a midway point before flying across the alleyway. Wind whished through her fair as gravity forced her down. She curled up and braced herself for a hard landing.

Glass went shattering everywhere as she crashed in through the window.

She rolled across the floor, ignoring the nicks and cuts accumulating across her skin as she coiled. Whatever element of surprise she had going for her was now dead. The gunman knew she was here. He was coming for her.

Best to give him a challenge then.

She lunged to her knees just as a bullet went whizzing past her head. Crawling quickly to the doorway, she remained in the shadow of the room as a gun pointed in, connected to a body. She lurched forward, grabbing hold of the assassin’s arm and forcing down his weapon. The gun fired off again, bullet dinging off a plastic waste bin. 

Still holding down his arm, she jumped up to her feet as it became a tug-of-war of brute strength in the doorway. She couldn’t push him into the hallway and he couldn’t force her back into the bedroom. It was a standoff between the two to see who would come out on top.

Both guns were useless and it came down to fists.

Sharon’s head went reeling back as he landed a fierce uppercut against her. She struck at his shoulder, getting him right in the curve of his neck. Both guns fired aimlessly, a byproduct of their hands being wrapped around the triggers as they fought.

Sharon’s wrist was forced away from her body as the hitman cracked it, causing her to drop her weapon. She lashed out, getting him to drop his own as well, but her move shifted the momentum towards him as he punched her back. She stumbled backward, momentarily seeing stars. The ill-timed distraction was all the hitman needed.

His hands wrapped into the material of her jacket as he lifted her off her feet and threw her back like a ragdoll. She smacked hard into the wall before flopping down onto the bed, really just a flimsy mattress in the corner of the room with weeks’ old sheets. She didn’t even have a moment to regroup before a fist was colliding with the side of her head.

The assassin towered over her, giving her nowhere to run as he rained down blows upon her. She gurgled loudly when he wrapped one hand around her neck, squeezing threateningly. She struggled, squirming this way and that in her battle to survive.

She got a lucky kick in as it sent him staggering back, falling to the ground. He somersaulted backward, landing in a crouch. She jumped up to her feet, vision somewhat spotty as she took a fighting stance. The gunman stood and attacked first. He came with a wide swing which she dodged.

He came hard and fast, blows darting this way and that from both arms. She ducked and dived, keeping out of his way to the best of her abilities. He grabbed hold of her arm and sent her rotating dangerously into the nearest glass cabinet.

She groaned as she crashed into it headfirst, glass splintering. The assassin had his hand in the neck of her jacket, and dragged her out of the cabinet, forcing her around roughly. She put her hands up only with a second to spare as he tried to ram her into the door. She kicked wildly, connecting with his kneecap, it popping loudly, as he fell back. She pivoted on her heel and now it was her turn to play offense.

She struck out at him as he blocked her blow for blow. The space was tight and imposing as they went at each other, the only sounds their heavy breathing and the clap of skin-on-skin. She held onto his wrist, keeping his arm taunt as she chopped at his elbow, causing him to howl. Keeping hold of the wrist, she spun beneath his outstretched arms in a fierce yet graceful dance. His arm twisted unnaturally as it followed her through her twirl. She got in a chin strike as his head jolted backward.

She forced his wrist back, arm bent in a highly painful position. He couldn’t maintain the position. She watched as he jumped up, effectively flipping himself to correctly line up with her once again. She released his appendage as he landed lightly on his toes. She immediately went to her knees, leggings darting out in an effective yet brutal sweep kick, which knocked the gunmen clear off his feet.

She quickly stood, aiming a kick for his head while he was still down on his hands and knees. He blocked her with his arm, capturing her leg as he stood, leaving her on only one foot. She hobbled uselessly as he forced her back and back, further and further into the room. He picked her up, only to drop her down on the rickety dining room table with alarming force. It gave out with an anguished groan as she crashed to the ground.

Her back cried out in agony as she landed among the debris of the table. She was still laying there, dazed and confused, when the gunman grabbed the trinket nearest to him, a heavy candlestick and came for her. She rolled away just before the object could get her in the head.

She needed a weapon.

Her hands desperately skittered out across the floor, connecting with the first thing she came across: a hardcover book. She swung it up for protection just as the candlestick came down again. It blocked the deadly blow and with a direct strike to the knee, the assassin backed off, giving her ample breathing room.

She bounced up, ducking as the candlestick was flung at her. She dropped to her feet, bringing the book down like a knife as it smacked right into the hitman’s toes. He screamed, giving her another opening. She rose up, swinging the book madly as it smashed across the man’s face. Before he could blink, she was charging into him. With the book pressing into his neck, cutting off vital oxygen, she forced him backward until he crashed into a glass chiffonier. She kept shoving the book into his throat, trying to get him to desist.

He kicked at her, causing her to falter but she continued pressing into him. She left enough space between their bodies so that his legs would remain out of reach of hers. He used his free arm to try and dislodge her book. Knowing it was her best bet at subduing him, she kept hold of it. She struck it, driving further into his throat as he gurgled in protest. She raised it up flat, so it covered his face, before punching him through the book. She landed several more blows before he had a burst of energy and tackled her backward. They smashed into a wall, the air getting forcibly knocked out of Sharon.

The assassin wrapped his arm around her neck, spun her around and sent her flying. She could only trip over her feet as she went hurtling through the bathroom door, crashing into a wall, before gravity slammed her into the shower, the curtain getting all tangled up in her feet.

She could hear the footsteps of the hitman following her into the cramped bathroom. She chucked a bottle of shampoo at him, which he easily ducked. Resting innocuously on the sink was an old fashioned razor because of course there would be one. The hitman lunged for it just as Sharon reached for the nearest towel, wrapping it around her hand like a whip.

He came at her with lightning speed, blade in hand. She used her towel to hold him off as he cut at her. The towel served as a makeshift garrote, keeping him at bay with its tautness. She landed a punch at his chest as he took a step back, before coming at her once again.

She got the towel wrapped around his right hand, the one holding the razor, before throwing the appendage into the door. She continuously rammed it, feeling bones break, until he finally dropped the blade. She quickly curled the towel around the hitman’s neck, bashing his head so hard on the sink that it came ripping off the wall.

She threw him into the shower, keeping him in a chokehold with the towel. She pushed him down, standing over him as she jerked the towel tighter and tighter. His left hand swiped at her, attempting to push her head back, but she shrugged it off and continued exerting pressure.

She could feel her heart thundering in her throat, like a roaring river as she listened to him struggle to breathe. His panting breaths were so loud in the tiny space.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the body beneath her went slack with unconsciousness. His head lulled back, arms flopping listlessly to his side. Sharon tightened pressure for a moment before finally releasing the hitman. He remained down.

She backed away, trying to catch her breath as she stood in the ruined apartment.

She tensed when she distantly heard the front door caved in from vicious blows. Her hand went to her waist, even though her gun was missing.

“This is the police!” a voice bellowed down the hallway. Sharon’s body nearly collapsed with relief as she lurched out of the bathroom.

“In here!” she hoarsely called and a moment a sea of navy assaulted her vision as policemen converged on the scene.

Where were they five minutes ago?

“Jeez, kid.” One whistled lowly as he caught sight of her. “He did a real number to you.”

Sharon, bruised and battered, only raised her shoulder in a deceptively simple half-shrug. “You should see the other guy.”

She moved out of their way as they quickly cuffed the hitman, moving him out of the apartment. Sharon, bleeding from numerous wounds and already feeling the migraine that accompanies a concussion, used all her strength to check her watch.

Her eyes widened in dismay when she saw the time.

“Shit!”

 

+++

 

The taxi bounced precariously as it drove right over a pothole. Sharon scowled into her compact mirror as she nearly had a disastrous mishap with applying her lipstick.

“Can we please keep the car straight?” she asked of the driver, who continued to ignore her very presence. She rolled her amber eyes but continued hastily applying her makeup. It just wasn’t for cosmetic reasons, she needed to cover up the various bruises and cuts she had acquired in her _little_ fight.

She was so late, so very late.

It was official, she was the worst Maid of Honor ever.

She was so intent on blotting at the gash at her shoulder, she was woefully unprepared for the taxi to slam on its brakes as it came to its desired destination. Sharon bounded into the glass barrier, cursing all the while as she was knocked about the cab.

“Rockefeller Center,” her driver dryly announced, clearly having no sympathy for her and her plights.

It took everything in Sharon not to vault over the barricade and beat him senseless.

She knew New Yorkers were assholes (case in point: Steve) but this guy was taking the title to new heights.

But she didn’t have time for brawling. She was late for a rehearsal.

Keeping her murderous tendencies in check, all she did was dig through her purse as she tossed him a wad of cash.

“Keep the change,” she got out through gritted teeth as she gathered her items and swung open the car door. She all but blundered out of the car as she realized that she had forgotten to buckle the yellow straps of her heels.

So, on the busy sidewalk milling with tourists and the like, she was left to hop around on one foot as she futilely attempted fixing her shoes. Of course, in her odd endeavor, she was knocked into and dropped her bag, her belongings scattering everywhere on the cement.

And did anyone stop and help her?

No. No, they did not.

Because New Yorkers sucked.

She quickly grabbed all her things, throwing them into her purse with wild abandon. When she was done she checked her watch and cursed.

She was so late.

She took off sprinting, her heels clicking over the pavement as she hauled ass. While being a spy naturally made her more graceful than the average person, it didn’t excuse the fact that she was in heels.

And running in heels? Still a pain.

She careened into the lobby, sliding across the smooth floor as she took off for the elevators. She was able to slip into a closing one, ignoring the dirty looks being shot her way as she hastily pushed the correct floor button for the rooftop garden.

Her hair was falling out of its hurried bun, she felt the telltale wetness in her pits and was doing her best to subtly air them out. She had put on deodorant, right?

Slowly (as in like, an eternity) the elevator ascended to the correct floor and she was flying out of the shaft before the doors were fully open. She all but ran to the glass doors leading to the picturesque rooftop. She threw them open and nearly tripped over her feet as she came out on the other side.

Where everyone else was staring at her.

The expressions ranged from bemused (Jessie) to dismayed (Catherine) to flat outrage (Mrs. Reyes) to smugness (Rachel) and then onto concern (Steve).

Sharon weakly smiled as she ran her hands over her dress, trying to smooth out the wrinkles. It was quite a lovely dress, light and whimsical with a thin layer of sheer material at her knees. Ideal for such an event.

“Hi, everybody.” she greeted as the staring continued. Pretty much the entirety of the Reyes clan (extended family and all) was gathered on the rooftop garden. That, plus Jessie’s much smaller but still numerous family, the groomsmen and bridal party, and plus ones made for a lot of people looking at Sharon right now.

Luckily, as always, Catherine took pity on her train wreck of a friend.

“Share-Bear!” she exclaimed with a mostly genuine smile as she turned to the minister. “Now that my Maid of Honor is here we can get on with the rehearsal, right?”

He nodded, still eyeing Sharon like she was some kind of alien.

Catherine clapped. “Amazing. Well, let’s get this show on the road. Our dinner reservations are calling our name.”

The bride-to-be waltzed through the crowd, coming up to Sharon’s side as she linked their arms together. She was pretty in a slinky, blush pink number with spaghetti straps that highlighted her sharp clavicles. Her dark hair fell in gentle waves down her back.

“Cutting it a little close, aren’t you?” she hiss-whispered to the blonde as she began leading her forward. It was a stunning view, St. Patrick’s Cathedral to the left, its marble spires gleaming in the golden sunlight of late afternoon. Even though they weren’t tremendously high off the ground, the sounds of traffic and the noise of city living seemed far away, not touching the idyllic scene created here. A faint breeze was refreshing and light, with a twinge of warmth as the city still felt like summer, even with autumn right around the corner. This was truly an amazing spot to say ‘I Do.’

If tomorrow was as gloriously beautiful as it was today, then the wedding would be a sight to behold.

“You know how it is,” Sharon muttered back, keeping her smile plastered on her face as they walked through the crowd. “So much _paperwork_ at the Archives.”

She didn’t have to look to know that Catherine was rolling her eyes. “You’re on vacation.”

“Well,” Sharon wheedled because there really was no way to defend that. “Vacation is more a state of mind, then, you know, an actuality.”

“Unbelievable,” Catherine sassed as she placed Sharon with her fellow bridesmaids. Sharon nodded and smiled (avoiding Rachel’s smirk) as the rehearsal began. Jessie – dapper as ever in a powder blue suit – and his groomsmen assembled near the pool at the far end of the garden, serving as an altar of sorts for the wedding proceedings. One by one, Catherine’s bridesmaids walked down the grass aisle, heels sinking in with every step. Luckily, tomorrow there would be an aisle runner.

Sharon was the final one, sending a quick smile Jessie’s way as she took her place in the lineup. Catherine came up the aisle, escorted by both her parents. Sharon tried to pay attention to the rehearsal, but zoned out more often than not and was surprised when she was nudged from behind by Rachel, signaling that she should get moving. On autopilot, she joined up with the Best Man and the two walked down the aisle.

And just like that, the rehearsal was over.

Dinner was to commence at a restaurant just a block or two over, and the rush of people was strong. Sharon kept to the peripheries, nodding to people politely whenever she caught someone’s eye. Her painkillers were beginning to wear off, a far off headache beginning to make its presence known as the stitch in her side increased. So distracted with her own internal pain, she didn’t notice a sturdy presence sidle up to her.

“Nice entrance,” Steve blithely remarked, looking not bad at all in a white button up that showcased the broadness of his shoulders against the trimness of his waist, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and topped off by accentuating navy slacks. He did casually elegant so well.

“Don’t remind me,” Sharon impassively replied. She didn’t have to look to know that Steve was unsuccessfully trying to hide his mirth as he grinned at her.

“I thought you were on vacation?” he asked with an arched brow as Sharon huffed, blowing strands of hair out of her eyes.

“Apparently those don’t exist in the CIA,” she told him quietly, making sure no one could hear them. “Not like they tell you that on the application.”

“Hmm,” Steve hummed, turning fully to her as his startlingly clear blue eyes took in her face, zoning in on blemishes and cuts.

“Nice black eye,” he commented lightly, thumb gently running over the curve of her cheek. While his touch was benign it was still enough to have Sharon wincing as he came in contact with the tender skin.

“Ouch.” She pouted, smacking his hand away. She glanced around quickly, worried her makeup wasn’t doing the trick. “It’s not noticeable, is it?”

Steve shook his head and he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Not to normal eyes. Though it might be a stunner tomorrow.”

Sharon shrugged indifferently. “I’ll sleep with an icepack tonight.”

She looked up, noticing Mrs. Reyes eyeing her skeptically, a horde of Filipino cousins in her wake. Sharon gulped, stepping closer to Steve as she linked her arm through his and beamed up at the super-soldier, making sure her smile was extra flirty as she batted her eyes.

It must have worked because Mrs. Reyes turned away with a defeated head shake, muttering to herself in Tagalog all the while.

And if Rachel bristled as she eyed the blonde pair while standing with her less attractive plus-one, well that was just another win for Sharon.

Steve good-naturedly complied, letting Sharon’s arm remain looped through his as they took the elevator down and strolled towards the restaurant. A backroom had been rented out for the rehearsal dinner and it was a merry atmosphere as everyone dined and drank in equal measure. Everyone was in good spirits when the party broke up hours later. 

“Remember,” Catherine told Sharon as the pair stood on the sidewalk, the heady September heat enveloping them, even late at night. “Be at my hotel room at 7am sharp. The bridal party will have breakfast before our hair and makeup appointments.”

“Got it.” Sharon nodded as an excited smile appeared across her face as she looked at her oldest friend. Catherine was resplendent and nearly glowing with happiness. “Can you believe it? At 3pm tomorrow you will be Mrs. Jessie Stromberg.”

Catherine laughed freely, a snort sneakily working its way out of her mouth. She hastily covered up her mouth, but the two couldn’t help but giggle together in amusement, like school children.

“I think you mean that he’ll be Mr. Catherine Reyes,” the bride-to-be responded with a wink.

“And proud of it,” Jessie chimed in as he wrapped his arm around Catherine’s waist, planting a sweet kiss at her temple. Sharon beamed at the happy couple. She had never been a big believer in true love (look at her own dismal track record with relationships) but Catherine and Jessie had something special, and it warmed Sharon’s heart that she was here to witness their upcoming union.

“Alright, lovebirds,” Sharon said before the two could start with the googly-eyes. “Get out of here.”

Sharon waved them off as they entered a taxi and drove off into New York traffic. She turned and found Steve waiting for her.

“Ready to head back?” he asked as he raised his arm, trying to flag down a cab as cars loudly whizzed by, horns honking a mile a minute. 

“Am I ever,” Sharon told him, finally feeling the pinched sensations of her toes crammed into heels. “All I want is a hot bath and a night of uninterrupted sleep.”

Who knew that the simple things in life were always the best ones?

A taxi had just pulled up when Sharon felt her phone vibrating in her purse. She rooted through the bag and pulled out the device. Her heart dropped when she saw the text message awaiting her.

“What is it?” Steve asked, holding open the door of the cab that was meant to ferry them back to the Tower. Sharon tiredly sighed as she stared down at her phone.

“I have to go into the office.” The office meaning the NYC branch of the CIA.

“What?” Steve’s brows were adorably furrowed. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Sharon responded, her face pulled down in a frown. Whatever it was it couldn’t be good.

“Do you have to go?” Steve questioned as Sharon huffed out an exasperated breath.

“It’s my job, Steve. I don’t really have a choice.” She looked up at him. “It’s probably nothing major. It most likely has something to do with my mission today.”

“Maybe,” Steve lukewarmly agreed, not quite believing Sharon’s positive twist on things. Well, that made two of them.

“Look,” she told him. “Why don’t you head back to the Tower? I’ll see you tomorrow before I head to Catherine’s hotel.”

Steve looked like he wanted to argue, but he bit his tongue and nodded once. He held open the door of the cab for her. “Here, you take this one. I can find my own.”

She squeezed his arm in thanks as she slid into the awaiting taxi. She gave Steve one last smile as he shut the door behind her like a true gentleman. She fired off the address and just like that they were off, leaving the super-soldier behind.

Sharon hardly paid attention as the taxi drove her through Manhattan, taking her to the CIA offices. She entered the skyscraper, finding her way towards the office of the Director of Crimes and Narcotics.

“Ms. Ramsey?” Sharon hesitantly inquired as she knocked on the wooden door, poking her head into a dimly lit office. An imposing African-American woman sat at the desk, her sharp, observant eyes taking in Sharon’s appearance.

“Agent Carter, I presume?” she asked, all business as she stood smoothly, extending her hand towards Sharon. The blond quickly ambled up to the desk, shaking the director’s hand. The woman had a firm handshake, no signs of weakness in her grip.

“Please,” Ramsey gestured to one of the two chairs in front of her desk. “Have a seat.”

Sharon did as she was told, crossing her legs and pulling her skirt further down her knee.

“I heard of your takedown of that would-be assassin,” Ramsey remarked impassively. “It was an impressive feat, if slightly overdramatic.”

Sharon steadfastly kept her face neutral as she clasped her hands together, seating them in her lap. It seemed everything she did in the CIA was _overdramatic._ Funny how that had never been the case at SHIELD.

“However,” Ramsey continued calmly. “It was effective and the Mayor of New York is still alive due to your actions. Job well done.”

Sharon blinked in surprise, slightly started by the praise. Bridge was never one for praise. “Thank you,” she told the director.

“Which is exactly why I called you in,” Ramsey went on, as if Sharon hadn’t spoken at all. “I have a mission for you.”

Sharon was flummoxed as she stared at the woman, her mouth wide open and everything.

“Excuse me?” Sharon got out after several long, uncomfortable moments. “I’m sorry, but I asked for paid leave and I’m pretty sure I got it-"

“You did.” Ramsey was composed as she leveled an unreadable look Sharon’s way. “However, your superior, G.W. Bridge, assured us that you would be more than up for the challenge.”

Of course, he did.

Sharon’s eyes narrowed as she realized what game Bridge was playing. He was still not fond of her, whether because she was from SHIELD or he just didn’t like her, he was still making things hard for her at Langley. And now that she had asked for a few days off, he was pulling nonsense this with her.

She knew exactly what he was doing.

He wanted her to prove herself. He wanted her to show her allegiance to the CIA and confirm that there was nothing holding her back from doing her job. So he had manufactured this.

He had made his move. Now it was her turn.

She quickly glanced down at her watch.

_9:03pm._

She had less than 18 hours until Catherine’s wedding. Okay, she could do this. She could show Bridge what she was made of and still make the wedding. It’d be tough, but she was always one for impossible odds. She'd just have to be smart about this. 

So, with a subdued sigh, she looked at Ramsey. Her fate was sealed, for better or worse. 

“What’s the mission?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> duh, duh, DUH! Oh no, Sharon, what are you doing? Will she complete the mission and still make it to Catherine's wedding? Or will Rachel take Sharon's place as Catherine's BFF? The suspense! And now Rumlow's on the loose. He's bound to make trouble sometime soon, so it wouldn't be a shock if we hear about Crossbones in the future. Also, the inspiration for the fight scene comes from the Bourne Ultimatum. Hopefully, I did it justice with my description. 
> 
> Fun fact: this chapter was initially longer, but I've split it into two parts because, boy, was it getting long! 
> 
> I hope everyone is enjoying/enjoyed their Memorial Day. Mine was pretty relaxing, if I do say so myself. 
> 
> I'd love to hear any feedback you guys have. It's always a joy to hear your thoughts! Thank you for the previous reviews! They make my day. 
> 
> Pic time! 
> 
> Sharon on her mission:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/42367274372/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/42367274462/in/dateposted-public/)   
> 
> 
> The Rehearsal
> 
> Sharon (love this dress!!!):  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/42367265102/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Steve:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/42367265032/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Catherine:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/28543652728/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Jessie:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/28543652628/in/dateposted-public/)


	21. The Best People in Life Are Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s my job!” Sharon tried to make Catherine understand. Why couldn’t Catherine just understand? Didn’t she get that Sharon hadn’t wanted any of this. But she hadn’t had a choice. Bridge had forced her hand, she was just refusing to buckle. She couldn’t lose the game against him.
> 
> “I’m your friend!” Catherine hollered, completely outraged by Sharon’s excuse. “I should matter more to you than the job!”
> 
> And before Sharon could stop herself, she found herself cutting back. “It’s all I have!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOK HERE ----> [Play music during wedding](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wh9ymGxaswM)

**_September 28 th, 2014 _ **

**_New York City_ **

****

When Sharon had gotten into espionage, she had to admit that finding herself in a painter’s van in Queens on a stakeout to take out a drug lord on the Ten Most Wanted List had never crossed her mind as a possibility.

Yet, here she was.

She was back in her tattered jeans and jacket from her mission with that pesky hitman. The bruises and cuts she had collected yesterday where that much more pronounced today with ugly purple and blue splotches scattered across her body. Her ribs were tremendously sore, a fact she was unfortunately reminded of every time she breathed. Her head ached with an incoming migraine. She hadn’t eaten since the rehearsal dinner the night before. She was tired, having gotten no sleep at all with the last minute organization of this operation.

It was an easy mission in theory.

Their drug lord – Alfonso Montoya – was scheduled to arrive no later than noon. The CIA had a guy on the inside, who was bugged. Once Montoya handed over the goods and effectively incriminated himself on tape, the CIA and police force would move in and grab him.

Easy.

Sharon had her doubts. Nothing was ever as easy as planned.

She looked down at her watch for the umpteenth time and swore at what she saw.

_9:33am._

Yep, she was definitely running late. No awesome, four-course breakfast for her with decadent waffles and delicious Eggs Benedict. And at this rate, her makeup and hair appointments were a no-go as well. Which really sucked, because she had paid $250 for those services.

Catherine would not be pleased.

Her friend had been somewhat understanding when Sharon had explained the situation via text. Though Sharon really couldn’t read much into her ambiguous tone. Sharon had promised to be there as quickly as she could.

Catherine had yet to respond to that.

Sharon ran a hand through her hair agitatedly as she slumped back into her seat. She kicked up her feet onto the dash as she sulked. Her sullenness only intensified as her phone began ringing. She looked at it disinterestedly, seeing an unknown number flashing up at her.

Maybe it would do her some good to take her anger out on a stranger. With that mindset, she accepted the call and brought the phone up to her air.

“What?” she barked into the device, long past the point of niceties.

 _“Well,”_ a familiar voice drawled. _“Don’t you sound chipper?”_

“Nat?” Sharon sat up straight in surprise, her feet thumping down to the van floor. “Is that you?”

 _“Who else would it be?”_ the redhead coyly volleyed back. This was the first time the two spies had talked since Natasha left DC. Sometimes, Sharon would get texts in passing from various unknown numbers that had the same wry humor that Natasha was famed for. However, every time Sharon texted back, she received a message telling her the number was out of service. So, it was a rather one-sided correspondence.

“Where are you?” Sharon asked curiously, happy to hear from her friend after months of radio silence.

_“Not in Queens, that’s for sure.”_

Sharon wasn’t even shocked that Natasha somehow knew where she was. That was just how Natasha was. It was better never to question her and just accept the fact that she was eerily omnipresent.

“Trust me,” Sharon muttered as she settled back into her seat. “It’s not where I want to be either.”

 _“Isn’t Catherine’s wedding today?”_ Natasha inquired with an interested tone. _“Aren’t you the Maid of Honor?”_

“Yes and yes,” Sharon replied as she fiddled aimlessly with the zipper of her jacket.

_“She okay with you being on a stakeout on her big day?”_

“It’s complicated,” Sharon murmured, a coil of guilt tightening through her stomach. She ignored it though, figuring it was just the stitches from her bullet graze. They throbbed every time she moved.

“And as long as I make the wedding, I should remain in her good graces.” Sharon didn’t know who she was trying to convince: Natasha or herself.

 _“You going to make the wedding?”_ Natasha asked, not sarcastic for once in her life.

Sharon’s face was forlorn as she stared out the window towards the abandoned warehouse where the drop was expected to occur in the next few hours. It was despondently empty.

“I hope so,” she answered honestly. It would gut her to miss out on Catherine’s big day. She knew that she had put herself into this mess. But she _needed_ to do this. She couldn’t let Bridge win. And if she did this then maybe, just maybe, he’d start respecting her. Catherine would understand…or so Sharon hoped.

 _“Good luck with that,”_ Natasha sardonically quipped. _“I have to go. Just wanted to check in. Also, make sure to sneak a pic of Steve in his suit.”_

Sharon’s lips curled up into a little smirk as she heard the laughter in Natasha’s voice. “I’ll try my best. Hey, Nat?”

_“Yes?”_

“Stay safe,” Sharon said after a moment. She didn’t want Nat to go, she didn’t know when the assassin would reach out again. She missed her friend. It was quiet on the line before the redhead responded.

_“You too. Don’t miss the wedding. You’ll regret it if you do.”_

And with that, the line went dead. Sharon was sure if she redialed it would be out of service. Natasha was always thorough with burner phones. Sharon lowered the phone to her lap. She looked down at her watch, willing the time to fly by.

_10:11am._

Then… _11:27am._ Next time it was _12:05pm._

“I thought the drop was supposed to be at noon?” Sharon hissed into her walkie-talkie. Montoya was five minutes late. Sharon could not afford for this guy to be late.

 _“We’re working on it,”_ one of the policemen fired back, just as impatient as she was.

“Well figure it out,” Sharon snapped angrily, half tempted to chuck her walkie-talkie into the back of the van.

Time continued to pass.

_12:25pm._

_12:41pm._

_1:05pm._

_1:45pm._

And then, when Sharon was truly desperate…

 _“We have eyes on the caravan,”_ echoed throughout the van. _“Repeat, we have eyes on the caravan.”_

Sharon glanced out the side mirror and saw several blacked out SUVs pulling up the street. She ducked down in her seat, staying out of sight as the entourage passed her. She remained pressed down as they entered the decrepit warehouse and disappeared from view.

Sharon listened through the comms as the drop commenced. All they needed was vocal confirmation from Montoya then they were good to go in and arrest him. Then Sharon could leave.

Of course, things just had to get messy.

Montoya – a paranoid man by nature – smelled a rat. Sharon tensed when shots began ringing out through her ears.

 _“All forces head in!” w_ as screeched through the walkie-talkie was sirens and flashing red and blue lights erupted from out of every available crevice.

_“Montoya is getting away! He’s heading southwest! All units on Montoya!”_

Sharon was the one with the best chance at capturing the drug dealer. She vaulted into the back of the van, looking for anything that could be used as leverage. She quickly spied a large pail, sealed and filled with paint.

Now that could work.

She grabbed it by the handle, cursing under her breath at how heavy it was. She swung open the van’s sliding door and went barreling out into the street. She ran into the dank alleyways, following the map in her head to try and cut off Montoya.

She came to a stop at where two alleys intersected. She remained pressed against the damp brick wall as she waited for her prey. She didn’t have to wait long as she heard feet running towards her.

When the footsteps were nearly on top of her, she sprung out of her hiding spot. She spun her arm, swinging the bucket forward as it collided bodily with Montoya. He was knocked completely off his feet, hitting the ground with a mighty smack as he was laid out on the cement, dazed and confused.

“Thank you, Aunt Peggy,” Sharon whispered to herself, proud of her handiwork. She ignored the twinge at her side from her jerky movements. She really hoped she hadn’t pulled any of her stitches.

“You got this?” she asked of the nearest policeman as he quickly handcuffed the groggy Montoya. The cop nodded back, radioing in their location to dispatch. And just like that, Sharon had another mission completed.

She quickly pulled up her jacket sleeve, checking the time.

_2:11pm._

“Fuck!” she loudly swore before taking off running towards the main street. She flagged down a taxi and jumped into it, clamoring out the address for Rockefeller Center.

She was going to be so late.

She immediately pulled up her contacts on her cellphone, buzzing Steve.

 _“Sharon?”_ the super-soldier asked, forgoing hello when he answered. _“Where the hell are you? Catherine’s been blowing up my phone all day.”_

“Are you still at the Tower?” she asked breathlessly, nerves rolling through her. She could not be late for Catherine’s wedding.

 _“Yeah,”_ Steve answered. _“Where are you?”_

“Queens,” Sharon answered miserably, running a hand through her hair as she forced herself to remain calm and collected. Getting hysterical would do no good.

 _“Why the hell are you in Queens?”_ Steve demanded to know, just as exasperated by the turn of events as Sharon was.

“Look, I don’t have time for the third degree,” she retorted sharply, her anger at Bridge, the CIA and most importantly herself beginning to bleed through. “I need you to grab my dress, shoes, and makeup bag and head to Rockefeller Center, okay? Meet me on the curb. I’m on my way.”

_“Sharon-"_

“Just do it!” she snarled before hanging up the phone. Queens to Manhattan was no small feat and it felt like the cab was purposefully driving at a snail’s pace. No matter how much Sharon bitched and complained, the driver refused to go any faster.

Finally, _finally,_ they pulled up to the correct venue. She threw cash carelessly at the driver before catapulting out of the taxi and into the streaming sunlight. And just like she asked, Steve was waiting for her; shoes in hand, garment bag hanging off his broad shoulders and purse tucked into the cruck of his elbow. He appeared as a glorified errand body.

She was in such a chaotic swirl of emotions that she didn’t even take time to notice how dashing he looked in his bespoke navy suit with a light azure tie that brought out the blue in his eyes, making them pop magnetically in the sunshine.

“Sharon,” he said as she shoved past him towards Rockefeller Center. “What’s going on?”

“No time,” she grunted as she dug her hand into the lapel of his suit jacket and pulled him along with her as she marched them into the building. “We are so late.”

She stomped into the lobby, Steve still in her clutches, as she directed them to the public restrooms. She yanked him not so gently into the women’s one. She only released him to stalk up and down the stalls, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw that they were all empty.

“Lock the door,” she directed to Steve, shrugging out of her jacket and flinging it aside haphazardly. Steve only shook his head before complying. When he turned around to face the spy, she had stripped out of her layers of clothing and was only left in her bra and underwear.

He immediately whirled away the moment he spied the lacy material of her bra, keeping his back to her. He could feel his ears going an embarrassing shade of red as he coughed uncomfortably, throat constricting.

“Dress,” she commanded, hand held out expectedly. Steve unzipped the garment bag, pulling out the pale pink, floor length beaded dress and passed it over his shoulder. As he was turning his head he caught sight of Sharon in the mirrors and he couldn’t help but stare.

He turned, facing her full on as she stepped into the dress and started tugging it up her legs.

“What happened?” he asked as he stepped forward, hand darting out to her stomach where her graze was. It was wrapped with gauze that was spotty with recent blood.

“It’s no big deal,” Sharon irritably told him. Steve only raised a dubious brow as he experimentally pressed down on the wound.

“You should get it checked out,” he warned her as she yelped, springing back from him.

“It’s fine,” she scoffed as she slung the dress over her shoulders. She spun around, exposing her backside to the super-soldier as she swept her hair off her neck.

“Zip me up.” she dictated curtly, shoulders tense with expectancy. Steve’s eyes darted from her neck to the zipper as he silently gulped. After a jarring moment of silence, he stepped up behind Sharon, his large body bracketing her own slender figure as he reached for the clasp and slowly drawled the zipper up her back.

“All set,” he told her in a hushed murmur, not wanting to be too loud in the quiet sanctity of the bathroom. Sharon remained still for a second before the urgency of the situation slammed into her once again. She flung herself at the bathroom mirrors as she began rooting through her purse, quickly pulling out mascara and lipstick.

“This is such a disaster!” she moaned to herself as she hastily tried pulling herself together into a picture of normalcy.  She twirled her hair up into a bun, allowing several strands to fall out and frame her face in an appealing fashion. She hoped the updo came off as artistically tousled and not just messy. She quickly applied the makeup before jamming herself into her rose gold heels.

“What time is it?” she asked Steve as she forced dangling earrings into her ears. She eyed the super-soldier through the mirror as he checked his watch.

“Three-fifteen,” he somberly replied.

“Shit,” she cursed, spinning around madly. The quick action had her nearly seeing stars as she grasped at her side. Steve was at her side in an instant, propping her up as she attempted to clear her head.

“Sharon-"

“No time,” she cut him off as she pushed off of his sturdy frame and counted it as a victory when she didn’t immediately collapse to the tiled floor. Steve must have bit his tongue because he remained studiously – if loudly – silent as she shoved her toiletries back into her purse.

“Let’s go.” She charged towards the door as Steve eyed the mess strewn about in her wake.

“What about your clothes?” he nodded to the pile near the trashcan of dirty and grimy clothing that Sharon had been wearing for the last two days. She immediately waved off his concern.

“I was going to burn them anyway. C’mon, we have to go.”

Soon enough the two were absconded in the elevator. She left Steve in the car when she came to the correct floor to rendezvous with the bridal party as Steve continued riding up to the venue. She hurried to the room containing Catherine and the bridesmaids. With a fortifying breath, she steeled herself and pushed open the door.

Six pairs of eyes were glued to her as she guiltily slunk in through the door.

The bridesmaids were all dressed in the identical gown that Sharon was currently sporting. Their hair was up in elaborate updos as the women rocked smoky eyeshadow, deep cat-eyes, and impressive contouring. Sharon felt woefully out of place as she stood there, being gaped at by everyone.

“Paperwork,” she murmured after a brutal stretch of skin crawling silence. “The Archives are a _wild_ place.”

Sharon glanced Catherine’s way and was struck by how stunning her friend had appeared. Sharon had unfortunately been unable to attend dress shopping with Catherine at Kleinfeld’s months before and this was the first time she was seeing the wedding gown in person. It was a satin trumpet dress that formed to Catherine’s body like a glove. It was minimalist in design but so striking and elegant in its simplicity. The only embellishment a thin, beaded belt around her trim waist.

“Catherine, you look beautiful,” she said in awe because she was completely knocked sideways by Catherine.

“You’re late,” Catherine flatly informed her, face void of any detectable emotion. Sharon winced as she looked down at her toes that were sneaking out from the bottom of her dress.

“I know,” she regretfully acknowledged, looking Catherine in the eye. “I am so sorry-" 

“Side room,” Catherine interrupted her, steel in her voice. “Now.”

She sashayed into said room, dressing swishing behind her. Sharon gulped, knowing she was about to be read the riot act, and rightfully so. Ignoring the hard looks she was receiving from her fellow bridesmaids, she quickly entered the room, shutting the door behind her.  The air was stifling with barely suppressed anger as Sharon turned to face her friend.

“Catherine-" 

“What the hell, Sharon?” exploded out of Catherine – the same Catherine who was always so composed she had been dubbed an Ice Queen in high school.

“I know,” Sharon dejectedly conceded. Because really? What could she say to make this better?

“Do you know what time it is?” the bride hissed, arms wide as she gesticulated wildly.

“It’s almost 3:30pm,” Sharon wretchedly said, guilt rolling through her body with every breath she took. 

“And when was I supposed to walk down the aisle?” Catherine pressed as Sharon nervously shifted from side to side, a tick of hers.

“Three,” Sharon quietly admitted, hating that she was the cause of so much anger, especially when it was coming from her best friend. Catherine shook her head in disgust and opened her mouth, likely to keep raking Sharon over the coals. Her eyes narrowed as she zoned in on Sharon’s dress.

“There’s a stain on your dress,” she murmured to herself in numb disbelief. “Why is there a stain on your dress?”

Sharon blinkingly looked down in surprise and saw what Catherine was referring to. There was a faint, red stain right at her side. Right where she had been grazed by a bullet.

“Shit.” She blew out a frustrated breath as she looked around the room. “I thought I stopped the bleeding. Do you have a tissue?”

“Why are you bleeding?!” Catherine screeched, her voice rising several decibels. “What could you have done to be bleeding? What, did you get shot…oh my God!” She looked crazed as she saw the abashed expression on Sharon’s face as the blonde blotted at the stain. “Oh my God! Did you get shot on my wedding day?!?”

“Not intentionally!” Sharon fired back, almost as loud as Catherine. She really hoped none of the bridesmaids could hear their yelling match. “And I got shot _yesterday,_ it’s just decided to start bleeding again!”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Catherine shouted me, her face fierce with justified anger. “That’s why you were late, isn’t it? You were on a CIA mission? On my _wedding day?!?”_

“I had no choice!” Sharon argued back, preoccupied with the stain. Luckily, her blotting had quashed the blood from spreading. 

“Bullshit! You always have a choice!” Catherine hotly volleyed back as the two screamed at each other in ways they hadn’t done since their tumultuous teenage years. Sharon couldn’t believe they were doing this. She was tried, in pain, guilt-ridden and she didn’t need this right now.

“It’s my job!” Sharon tried to make Catherine understand. Why couldn’t Catherine just _understand?_ Didn’t she get that Sharon hadn’t wanted any of this? But she hadn’t had a choice. Bridge had forced her hand, she was just refusing to buckle. She couldn’t lose the game against him.

“I’m your friend!” Catherine hollered, completely outraged by Sharon’s excuse. “I should matter more to you than the job!”

And before Sharon could stop herself, she found herself cutting back. “It’s all I have!”

“You have me!” Catherine threw back at her before a hollow silence enveloped the pair that had once been thick as thieves. In the silence, it finally settled in on what they had said to each other.

It was Catherine who spoke again, voice resigned with finality and sadness. “Or…at least you did.”

She moved to the door as Sharon watched helplessly. “Catherine, wait…”

But Catherine was gone.

Sharon watched her go with a heavy heart. She stood in the little room by herself, blooding roaring through her eyes as she tried to make sense of what had just happened.

One thing was clear: she had majorly fucked up.

She hid her face in her hands, forcing down the knee jerk reaction of crying. She was a big girl, a crying fit wasn’t going to solve anything. When she finally felt somewhat calm, she walked back into the room of bridesmaids.

“Where’s Catherine?” she asked, trying not to bristle as the women seemed reluctant to let her know where the bride had run off too.

“She just walked out,” Rachel informed her with a frown. “We can’t find her.”

That wasn’t good.

Sharon ventured out of the room, poking her head into the hallway, hoping to catch a glimpse of white satin. She went up and down the halls, dress swaying back and forth as she called out Catherine’s name. She headed into the stairwell, looking up and down the continuous cement steps. She was just about to turn away when she heard a far off sniffle.

It was coming from below.

She slowly walked down a level and found Catherine in a bridal heap on the stairs, head tucked into her hands as she quietly sobbed. It broke Sharon’s heart to see her best friend this way, knowing that she was the cause of such unhappiness. Sharon cautiously sat next to her friend, leaving space between the two so as not to force herself on the other woman. Catherine didn’t acknowledge her as she stubbornly stared ahead, quiet whimpers escaping still.

“Please don’t cry, Kit-Kat,” Sharon gently told her. “You’ll ruin your makeup.”

Catherine shook her head as she wiped uselessly at her eyes, smearing her makeup artist’s hard work. She hiccupped a few times, but Sharon continued giving her space as she tried pulling herself back together into the collected woman she usually was.

“Did you know,” she haltingly got out after several minutes. “That I didn’t want you to join SHIELD?”

Sharon’s eyes widened as she turned to Catherine. The bride was still refusing to look at her, but at least she was engaging in conversation. Sharon knew she could fix this if Catherine just gave her the chance. That's what Sharon did, she fixed things. 

“You never told me that,” Sharon quietly replied, not quite knowing what to say in the face of this unexpected revelation.

Catherine snorted blithely, shaking her head. “How could I? It’s the only thing you’ve talked about since we were ten-years-old.”

Sharon glanced down at her hands as she fiddled with her fingers. It was true, for as long as she could remember SHIELD had been her dream. It had been such a beautiful dream come to fruition until Hydra twisted and ruined it until it was nothing more than a living nightmare.

“I was worried,” Catherine continued in a soft voice. “That you would stop being _you_. That SHIELD would suck you up and strip everything away from you that made you my best friend, the person that I’ve cared about for so long. I was worried that I was going to lose you. Do you know what made me stop thinking that?”

Sharon slowly shook her head, waiting with bated breath for Catherine’s answer.

“You told me when you joined SHIELD that at the end of the day you’d still be Sharon Carter. Agent 13 was the job, but Sharon Carter was who you really were.” Catherine tilted her head, looking Sharon square in the eye as she stressed her words. “That you wouldn’t let it consume you. And it was true. You stayed you, no matter what SHIELD threw at you, even when it was Captain America.”

Her lips quirked up into a small smile. “I thought things would be even easier with you being in the CIA, but it’s not. I think you’re failing at the promise you made me.”

Catherine looked away as Sharon swallowed audibly, a lump forming in her throat as she felt tears pricking her eyes. It was like a punch straight to her gut, hearing Catherine speak so candidly.

“God, Sharon,” Catherine got out as she shook her head. “Sometimes it feels like I don’t even know who you are anymore. You’re always on missions now, always jumping when the CIA asks how high. You go weeks without talking to me. You keep things from me when you never did before. You nearly missed my wedding, for God’s sake! Why? Because it’s your job? That Sharon Carter I grew up with would have never done this to me.”

She looked at Sharon, questions clear in her eyes. “Help me understand, Sharon. I just want to know why.”

A single tear escaped from Sharon’s eye as it slid down her cheek, falling with a plop into her lap. She couldn’t look Catherine in the eye as she stared down at her lap in despair. Her eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to the jagged scar on her form arm given to her courtesy of Rumlow. It was still pink and bumpy, rising above her skin like a constant reminder of her failure. Of how her love of SHIELD had blinded her to the cancer lurking beneath the surface, poisoning everything it touched, including her.

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” she brokenly confessed, revealing the secrets that had been building in her heart for months. The same dark thoughts and doubts that kept her up at night.

“I used to know who I was,” she said with a self-deprecating grin that slid away into a pensive frown. “But then Hydra happened and SHIELD imploded and now I…I feel like I don’t have _anything._ I feel like everything was taken from me. And I’ve been trying to get it back, but it keeps slipping through my fingers every single time.”

She scooted closer to Catherine, needing contact to ground her so she wouldn’t be adrift in her own spiraling emotions. “I think that’s why I’ve thrown myself headfirst into the CIA. I just thought…that if I went on enough missions, if I was the best agent I could be, then maybe I’d find the part of me that I’m missing. Because I can feel it, Catherine.”

She looked at her friend and placed a hand over her chest, clutching it as she carried on. “It’s like a gaping hole inside my chest. And I keep trying to fix it, but nothing I do works. It still rips open every time I try to breathe.”

It hurt to breathe right now.

“SHIELD was my life,” Sharon declared. “And I just don’t know who I am without it.”

“You’re Sharon Carter.” Catherine knocked their shoulders together, jostling Sharon out of her downward spiral as blinked wetly at the woman beside her. “You’re my best friend. You’re a damn good spy. And you’re more than SHIELD. You always have been.”

Sharon mustered up a wobbly smile, even though she knew it must have been a pretty pathetic sight with all the tears and sniffling. “You’re my best friend too.”

Catherine’s face melted into a genuine grin as the two women exchanged teary looks. Suddenly arms were thrown around Sharon in the best chokehold she had ever experienced. She held on tightly, burying her face in Catherine’s shoulder as the two hugged it out. The calming backrub was the only thing keeping Sharon together as she held onto Catherine like a lifeline.

Finally, she pulled away and realized their current predicament. “Shit!” she quickly wiped at her eyes, knowing her hasty makeup was already a wash.

“We have to go. We have to get you married!”

Catherine burst out into loud giggles as she clutched at her sides. She managed to nod as Sharon stood, pulling Catherine up with her. Everything passed in a whirl as they got themselves back to the room filled with bridesmaids. Catherine’s makeup was touched up. Sharon received her bouquet of show-stopping, bright pink peonies.

Then it was show time.

It was a beautiful afternoon, not a cloud in the sky as the sun shone down brilliantly, illuminating the rooftop garden in its golden rays. It felt like an oasis, cut off from the rest of the city as the sounds of traffic seemed far off and distant. Sharon felt as if she glided down the aisle runner, scattered with stray rose petals from the flower girls. A string quartet was gathered, playing a soft rendition of _I’m Yours_ as the acoustic music echoed throughout the garden. As Sharon reached the pool she couldn’t help but wink at Jessie. The groom was timelessly handsome in a grey suit with a matching pink tie to the bridesmaids' dress. Jessie breathed out deeply, nervously wringing his hands together as Sharon took her place among the bridal party.

With a hushed murmur, the guests stood, turning to face the bride as Catherine appeared, escorted by her proud parents. A shocked smile spread across Jessie’s face as he watched his bride walk towards him. The love and adoration were blazing in his cerulean eyes as Catherine approached him. Mr. and Mrs. Reyes left their daughter at the altar and took their seats as bride and groom – after exchanging drunk punched smiles – turned to face the officiant, not before Catherine handed her bouquet to Sharon.

The minister – a jovial woman with a perpetually cheerful face – addressed the gathering of well-wishers. “Friends, we have been invited here today to share with Jessie and Catherine a very important moment in their lives. In the years they have been together, their love and understanding of each other has grown and matured, and now they have decided to live their lives together as husband and wife."

She smiled down at the couple standing side by side. She carried on, speaking poetically of the sanctity of love and marriage, of two souls binding themselves together to create a perfect love. It was moving as the crowd watched with bated breath, a witness to Catherine and Jessie’s love story.

“Jessie and Catherine have opted to speak from the heart,” the officiant told the guests. “They will now tell each other their most solemn vows.” She nodded to the pair as the bride and groom turned towards one another. A quivering smile was on Jessie’s face as he took in the sight of her fully, an absolute vision in white. He reached for her hand, squeezing it tightly as the two stared into each other’s eyes.

“Catherine Rosamie Reyes,” he told her in awe, thumb caressing her knuckles as he declared his love for her. “I promise to be your lover, companion, and friend. Your partner in parenthood. Your ally in conflict. Your greatest fan and your toughest adversary. Your comrade in adventure, your student and your teacher, your consolation in disappointment, your accomplice in mischief. This is my sacred vow to you, my equal in all things.” He brought her hand up to his mouth and placed a gentle kiss to the back of it, tenderly sealing the deal as he promised, _“All things."_

“Jessie,” the minister chimed in, though the two lovebirds only had eyes for each other. “Do you take Catherine to be your wife?”

Without hesitation, Jessie responded, “I do.”

Catherine rapidly blinked back tears as she latched onto Jessie’s hands, gripping him tightly. She was so emotional, her words were choked as she began speaking.

“Jessie William Stromberg,” she told him in a heartfelt tone, all but glowing as she looked at him, her eyes overfilling with devotion. "You have been my best friend,” she paused for a moment, glancing at Sharon over her shoulder. “Sorry, Share-Bear.”

Tinkering laughter spread across the garden as guests enjoyed the ceremony. Sharon smiled amidst her sniffles as she shook her head, trying to keep her tears at bay.

“It’s okay,” she replied, smiling towards Jessie. “I don’t mind coming in second place to him.”

Catherine’s grin grew as she winked playfully towards her friend, before focusing once again on her vows. “You have been my mentor, playmate, confidant, and my greatest challenge. But most importantly, you are the love of my life and you make me happier than I could ever imagine and more loved than I ever thought possible. You have made me a better person, as our love for one another is reflected in the way I live my life. So I am truly blessed to be a part of your life, which as of today becomes our life together. And…”

She petered off for dramatic effect before closing teasingly. "I promise to comfort you when the Giants lose and drink beer with you when they win."

More laughter abounded throughout the venue, none more so than Jessie, whose head was thrown back as he laughed heartily at Catherine’s cheek.

He nodded to her as he seriously proclaimed, “I’m holding you to that, babe.”

The officiant smiled broadly as she asked, “Catherine, do you take Jessie to be your husband?”

“I do,” Catherine waveringly exclaimed, the emotion thick in her voice.

“Please present the rings,” the minister said. Jessie’s Best Man stepped forward, pulling his bands from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He handed them to the officiant as she let them rest on her book.

“Your wedding ring is a symbol of your promise to one another. The ring, an unbroken, never-ending circle, is a symbol of committed, unending love.”

She handed Jessie the thin, delicate gold band that Catherine was to wear. “Jessie, as you place this ring on Catherine’s finger, repeat these words after me: this ring symbolizes my love for you and the commitments we made today.”

Jessie repeated the words as he slipped the ring down her finger, his hand shaking all the while. Catherine’s smile was resplendent as she stared down at the wedding band.

Catherine parroted the minister’s words as she branded Jessie with his ring, pushing it past his knuckle so that it rested snugly at the base of his finger.

The officiant smiled kindly as she addressed the blissful duo. “By the power vested in me by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

An excited hush fell over the gathering as everyone eagerly waited for the fated words. The officiant sent a joking smile Jessie’s way as she proclaimed, “You may now kiss your bride.”

Catherine wasted no time, jumping up his arms before he could blink. He caught her, holding her up as they kissed. He spun her around as applause erupted throughout the rooftop, guests standing to their feet to give the newly married couple a rapturous ovation.

“Wahoo!” Sharon yelled, brandishing her bouquets ecstatically as she cheered on her friends. She was the happiest she had been in months watching Catherine and Jessie tie the knot. The string quartet struck up a sprawling, romantic number as Catherine took back her flowers and she and her new husband began walking down the aisle, smiling at loved ones.

Sharon watched them go with a wide grin plastered to her face. Her amber eyes moved past the couple as they landed on Steve, sandwiched between the extended Reyes clan. He was clapping along, his lips curled into a small smile as the happy couple passed him. He glanced her way, tipping his head towards her in silent salute.

Sharon’s grin grew larger as she looked at the super-soldier. What had started off as the absolute worst day ever, had really turned itself around.

 

+++

 

_‘Baby, we’re the new romantics. Come on, come along with me. Heartbreak is the national anthem, we sing it proudly.’_

Night had fallen across New York, though it was bright and lively in the glittering ballroom. A dancing storm had erupted across the dance floor as bodies grooved and shook with wild abandon, enjoying the jubilant atmosphere. Sharon was at the epicenter of the party, throwing out her dance best moves. She and the other bridesmaids had ditched their heels in favor of flip-flops, compliments of the bride. The groomsman had tossed away their jackets, loosening their ties and rolling up their sleeves as they boogied.

_‘We are too busy dancing to get knocked off our feet. Baby, we’re the new romantics. The best people in life are free.’_

The song came to its crescendo before ending on a high note. Sharon crowed loudly as she hustled off the dancefloor, flushed and breathless. What she would give for a drink right now. Just as she was about to venture towards the open bar, she caught sight of Steve standing on the peripheries, nursing a beer. Earlier children had been fawning over the Avenger, all wanting Captain America’s autograph. He had finally been left alone after Mrs. Reyes shooed the giggling horde of children away.

Sharon traipsed his way, coming up to his side with a sunny grin. He nodded to her in greeting as he continued watching the dance floor. A slower number had begun playing as couples – young and old alike – had stormed the dance floor, swaying together to the dulcet tones of Ed Sheeran.  

“Quite a dancing storm out there,” he told her, taking in her gasping appearance. Her bun was messy, strands falling out at a rapid rate due to her excessive head bopping. She was loose and relaxed, unlike the severely stressed out CIA agent who had accosted him on the streets earlier.

“Yeah, I love it,” she remarked affably. She always loved a good party, and boy, had Catherine and Jessie delivered. Between the cheeseburger bar and the chocolate fountain, it was quite the shindig. Definitely one for the ages. 

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, a sly grin crossing her face as she asked, “Think you’ll be brave enough to venture into the ring at all?”

Steve stiffened noticeably as his blue eyes were blown wide. He looked at the dancing couple as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. For all his awkward posturing, Sharon saw something forlorn in his gaze as he shuffled his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Oh, no…I can’t dance.”

Suddenly it hit her.

Peggy. A red dress. A promised dance that never was.

She was such an idiot.

“Ahh,” she quietly breathed out, crossing her arms over her chest. “I remember, you’re waiting for the _right partner.”_

She couldn’t understand why, but her stomach tightened uncomfortably at the thought of Steve eternally waiting for something that would never come. Of the fact that he was still clearly living in the past when the present was happening right around them, _right now._

Steve’s head jerked up as he looked at her. “Sharon…”

“I think I see Mrs. Reyes trying to flag me down,” she interrupted, forcing a poor facsimile of a smile on her face. She shrugged lightly. “Maid of Honor duties never quit. I’ll catch up with you later.”

And before he could say another word, she was darting into the crowd, letting it swallow her up. The reception continued on with a lively affair, and it was several hours later when she was seated at the bridal table, that Steve caught up with her. Her feet were propped up on the empty seat next to her as she nursed a refreshing mojito.

“Hey,” Steve greeted, looking no worse for wear. He had been regaling a group of Jessie’s fraternity brothers with stories of the War for the last two hours.

“Hey,” she beamed back, only a little tipsy off alcohol and the immense happiness she felt for Catherine and Jessie. Whatever weird awkwardness that had existed between the blonde pair hours earlier was gone as Steve overlooked the ballroom.

“Want to help me figure out the photo booth?” he casually asked, biting down a grin at how quickly Sharon perked up.

“Do I ever!” she exclaimed, jumping to her feet. She wrapped her hand around his wrist and pulled him eagerly towards the photo booth. Steve was willing and complied with the ridiculous, lime green fedora she plopped down on his head. She handed him a bushy mustache prop that he dutifully held in front of his mouth. Sharon adorned herself with a fluffy pink feather boa and a pair of oversized sunglasses that rested crookedly on her nose.

“How are we doing this?” he inquired as they squeezed together in the cramped space of the booth. Sharon was already reaching forward to start the camera.

“Just have fun with it,” she got out right before the flash went off. She immediately burst out into laughter.

“Okay, okay. Uh…funny faces!” she exclaimed as both pulled their best goofy expressions before the flash came again. It nearly blinded them with its ferocity. 

“Model pose!” she yelled out, giving her best Zoolander as Steve tilted his fedora just so, eyes smoldering. It was very fashion forward.

The final picture had Sharon’s arm slung around his neck as both smiled toothily for the camera, Sharon’s tongue sticking out as she laughed. The two somehow made their way out of the confined booth and waited for the picture reel to shoot out. When it did, the two bent their heads together to examine the silly photos.

“Aww,” Sharon cooed good-naturedly as she eyed their masterpiece. “These are great.”

She eyed Steve and made an executive decision in her head. “Here,” she said, handing them over. “You have it.”

Steve raised an eyebrow but accepted the pictures easily enough. “You sure?”

A small smile appeared as she nodded. “Yeah, you could use some personal photos in your apartment.”

Gratefulness passed through his blue eyes as he securely pocketed them in his suit jacket. “Thank you, Sharon.”

Sharon waved him off. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t be such a softie about it.”

The party continued on for several hours more. It finally broke up after midnight. Sharon and Steve were among the last to leave as they ventured out to the sidewalk. The city was still brimming with light and life around them, hardly ready for sleep.

Sharon, on the other hand, was exhausted and could barely keep one foot in front of the other. She was bundled up in Steve’s suit jacket, sniffing it idly as Steve – carrying her heels and purse – flagged them down a cab back towards the Tower.

When a car pulled up, he held the door open for her as she clumsily slid inside. Steve plopped in next to her, rattling off their desired address easily. The car lurched forward into traffic as Sharon shifted closer to Steve. Her eyelids felt heavy and all she wanted was somewhere horizontal to lay down.

“I had fun,” she sleepily proclaimed for all to hear. _All_ being Steve and the thoroughly uninterested cab driver. “Did you have fun?” she asked Steve, suddenly very concerned that the man hadn’t enjoyed himself.

Steve chuckled to himself as he leaned back into the worn upholstery. “I had fun,” he reassured her.

Sharon nodded to herself, glad that Steve had had fun. “Yay!” She clapped her hands quietly before petering off. Steve had an amused glint in his eyes as he observed her in the dark cab. Every couple of seconds they passed under streetlights as orange light flooded the backseat, bathing them in it before they were plunged back into darkness.

“It was a good final hurrah,” he idly told her, playing with his cufflinks absentmindedly. “Before Sam and I head back to Europe.”

That was right. Steve and Sam’s vacation was finally at its end. Now it would be back to business as they hunted for Barnes.

Sharon couldn’t help but pout as her head lulled back against the car seat. It rolled towards Steve as she looked at him. “When do you leave?”

“Wednesday,” he informed her, angling his body so he was facing her.

“Boo,” Sharon tiredly murmured. “How will I talk to you?”

Steve gave her a blithe looked. “I think that’s what cell phones are for.”

Sharon blinked dumbly as the idea rooted through her mind. “Oh. Yeah. Duh! But still…”

She fiddled with the beads of her dressed as her body began to feel heavy with exhaustion. How much longer till they were at the Tower? At this rate, Steve would have to carry her.

“But I’ll miss you,” she said without thinking, though it was no less true.

Steve’s eyes flashed as he smiled, nudging her a bit so she would look at him. “I’ll miss you too.”

“You better,” she warned, lightly punching him in the shoulder. The cab continued on, driving smoothly through Manhattan, taking them closer and closer to the Tower. Sharon’s eyes drooped shut as her head dropped to Steve’s shoulder; visions of the evening running through her head. As she began falling into sleep, she had only one last thing to say.

“Best. Wedding. Ever.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I am so glad I split this chapter into two parts, if I hadn't this would have been in the ballpark of 12,000 words and 25-30 pages. Massive! I also think it flows better as two separate entities. I really hope this chapter does a good job of explaining Sharon's thought process when it comes to the CIA, as well as the residual grief and doubt she feels from SHIELD/Hydra. Sharon's a bit of an avoider, shoving her feelings down in order to do the job, and I thought it was finally time she sit with these troubling thoughts and feelings she has. Luckily, Catherine was there to get her head on straight and remind Sharon of who she truly is. 
> 
> Catherine and Jessie are hitched! I wonder if their newly wedded bliss will rub off on Sharon...maybe give her some ideas. *nudge, nudge, wink, wink* I also hope that the subtle shifts occurring between Blonde Squared come off as natural and not forced. They've been through a lot together, so it shouldn't be all that surprising that maybe their perceptions of each other are changing, slowly but surely. We shall have to see where it goes. Also, Natasha made a small reappearance! Don't worry, we will be seeing her again in the near future, ready to meddle like the pro she is. 
> 
> It was fun incorporating one of Peggy's iconic takedown moves from Agent Carter. She's obviously regaled Sharon with her adventures both with SSR and SHIELD, and I like to think Sharon keeps them in mind when on her own missions. If it works, it works. And Peggy's moves are classic. 
> 
> As always, thank you for all the kind words you guys have given me. It truly inspires me when I recieve comments and reviews from all of you, and it keeps me going with the writing process. I appreciate everything you guys have to say. 
> 
> Pic time! 
> 
> Steve:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/41797562764/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Sharon:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/41820010334/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/41797562974/in/dateposted-public/)   
> 
> 
> Catherine:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/41797563394/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Wedding Ceremony:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/41797562684/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Jessie:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/41797563284/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Wedding Reception:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/41797563184/in/dateposted-public/)


	22. I Think It's Time for You to Find Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She should tell him what she had learned. That’s what a respectable agent would do; share information with one’s superior officer. That’s what she was trying to be: respectable, by the books, a team player. Bridge was at the very least tolerating her. She knew she should not say anything, not make any waves, not disrupt the status quo or toe the company line. But her time at SHIELD had taught her that institutions she had once believed in fervently had the ability to lie. Not only lie, but to deceive on such a large scale that they had attempted total and worldwide destruction, and she had been none the wiser until Zola had slapped her with the damning information. Institutions would say such lies were for security and peace of mind, but she knew better now. She had learned the hard way.

**_October 13 th, 2014_ **

**_Washington, D.C._ **

****

It was quiet. Too quiet.

Izzy had a very bad feeling about this.

He was breathing too loudly, he could hear his harsh panting as he ventured slowly and timidly through the vast industrial complex. It was bathed in claustrophobic darkness, with gleams of spooky neon lights filtering in, giving the warehouse an eerie ambiance. Even with his gun in hand and the vest strapped securely to his chest, he felt open and exposed as he wandered down a dim hallway. His heart was pounding erratically against his ribcage, ready to explode out of his torso like a scene from _Alien._

His grip on his gun was tenuous, his hands shaking with every step he took. His damned glasses kept slipping down his crooked nose.

“Should have gotten contacts, but no, I had to look like a hipster,” he muttered to himself as he pressed himself to the brick wall, scared something dangerous would come jumping at him from out of the shadows.

The enemy was out there, closing in.

He came to an impasse and nearly had a heart attack as he stood there, trying to decide which passage to take. His decision was a matter of life and death. If he chose wrongly…well, he really didn’t want to choose wrong.

Just as he was taking a tentative step forward, a hand came out of nowhere, grabbing his shoulder roughly. Izzy jumped a foot in the air as he began screaming frantically, the noise echoing all around.

“It’s me!” a familiar voice cut through his panicked wails, knocking him out of his paralyzing terror. He froze, eyes narrowing as he peered through his glasses to his companion.

Antonia glared back, still holding onto him. Izzy deflated in relief at the fact he was no longer alone in this hellhole of a labyrinth.

“Oh, thank God,” he said gratefully, shoulders dropping in ecstatic comfort. Antonia was less supportive as she released him, rolling her dark eyes skyward. 

_“Idiota.”_

Now Izzy didn’t speak Spanish (though he was fluent in Russian, Arabic, and Mandarin, thank you very much) but he was pretty sure Antonia had just insulted him.

Which was just rude given the circumstances.

“Where have you been?” Izzy hissed as the two stood together in the deserted corridor. His expression turned absurdly hopeful as he asked, “Were you able to get help?”

Antonia’s lips pressed together into a thin line as she shook her head, a grim look of resignation in her gaze.

“No. We’ll have to fight our way out.”

Izzy laughed shrilly before clamping his mouth shut. He bit down so hard he nicked his lip and could feel the metallic taste of blood in his mouth.

“Have you seen me?” he gestured to his gawky limbs. He hardly had an ounce of fat on him. “If we fight I’m dead for sure.”

“It’s our only chance, Izzy,” Antonia unapologetically responded as she wound her hand through his vest and shoved him down the left-hand passageway. They ambled silently down the hallway for what seemed like an eternity before it came to an end, revealing a wide open space. Obstacles were everywhere as rafters drifted across the ceiling, providing terrible eye coverage.

Izzy gulped as he looked around.

He and Antonia were sitting ducks here. If they stayed out in the open, they’d be picked off one by one.

Where was back up when you needed it?

“C’mon,” Antonia nudged him forward. “We have to keep going.”

They stayed low to the ground as they crept methodically through the warehouse, keeping their eyes set determinedly ahead and their backs tense, ready to spring in action if the situation called for it.

_Clang._

The two CIA agents froze. They exchanged uneasy glances as the silence rang out around them.

“Did you hear that?” Izzy whispered.

“It was probably nothing.” Antonia firmly replied, seemingly trying to convince herself as she nodded in agreement to her own assessment. The two kept crawling forward when the sound came again, closer than before and just as sinister as the first time.

_Clang. Clang._

“Shit,” Izzy swore as his eyes slipped shut. He rocked his body back and forth as he tried to drown out the dread flooding his system.

“They’re hunting us,” Antonia breathed out, a tremor of fear evident in the way her breath caught in her throat.

_Clang. Clang. Clang._

It was almost mocking, how often the noise came and how it was steadily moving towards their very location. Izzy’s life (limited it was) flashed before his eyes as he remained frozen in growing horror. He was too young to die. He had hardly lived. He had never gotten to do that one thing with a woman like he had always wanted to.

And through all of this, the sounds grew closer and closer.

When it was nearly on top of them, Antonia snapped.

“That’s it,” she spat out vehemently as she stood, cocking her gun. “I’m out.”

She looked poised to run, and it was only Izzy’s reflexes as he scrambled forward, clawing her vest and keeping her in place that stopped her from bolting.

“Whatever happened to no man left behind?” he wheezed desperately. If she left him here, he was definitely going to die.

Her eyes were blazing as she looked at him, frenetic energy making her nearly buzz in place. “It’s every woman for herself!”

And with that she took off, disappearing into the oppressive darkness, leaving Izzy all alone. He stayed crouched on the ground, paralyzed with despair. Seconds later a pained screamed ripped out from the blackness.

That was it. They had gotten Antonia.

Izzy was the last man standing.

“Fuck that!” he yelled to himself as he jumped up and began sprinting. He paid no attention to direction or reason as he ran and ran, his feet pounding over the pavement. The blood was roaring through his ears as he kept going, looking for anywhere to hide, just to get away from those clangings.

He nearly tripped over his feet like the klutz he was as he scampered down a long hallway, closed in by iron fences. He wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings and that proved to be his downfall.

A shadow came dropping down from above, landing in front of him as it terrifyingly blocked his way. His mouth dropped open as he stared at his foe, a shiver running up his spine at the merciless look he was receiving. His gun clattered to the floor as he backed up. Because he was him, he stumbled and fell backward. His rear landed roughly on the concrete as he madly crawled back, his eyes still trapped at the figure who was stalking towards him.

“Please!” he begged desperately, nothing but self-preservation egging him own. “Don’t do this! Please, I’ll do anything you want!”

The figure said nothing, only kept looming towards him like a personified Angel of Death.

“Spare me!” he pleaded, but it was to no avail as he stared down the barrel of their gun. Their finger curled around the trigger.

This was it. This was the last moment of Isadore Cohen’s short and pitiful life.

The gun went off.

Izzy fell back to the ground, laying sprawled out as his vest lit up in a dizzying display of bright colors, signaling to the world what a failure he was.

And just like that, Izzy lost the game of laser tag.

“That’s game!” the triumphant figure yelled gleefully, all doom and gloom gone. Lights sprang up throughout the warehouse, surrounding them in unforgiving fluorescent light. Izzy blinkingly stared as Sharon stood before him with a victorious grin. She placed her hands on her hips as she stood above the immobile Izzy, looking much better in the vest than he ever did.

“Man, Iz,” she shook her head as she looked down at him. “That was just pitiful.”

“I’m a pacifist,” he mumbled, accepting the hand she offered him as she helped him to his feet.

“No,” Greer exclaimed as she came around the corner. “You’re just a loser.”

Antonia followed in her wake, glowering at her girlfriend. “You cheated. I can’t prove it, but I know it.”

“Babe,” Greer batted her eyes. “Would I cheat?”

“Yes,” Antonia, Sharon, and Izzy and said at the same time.

 _“But,”_ Sharon deferred as she stepped up to her pouting cousin, slinging her arm around her shoulder joyfully. “We didn’t cheat this time. We kicked ass and took names. And that’s how Carter women do it!” she crowed as the two blondes high-fived in celebration for their lauded win.

One thing to remember about the Carters was that they were mightily competitive. Especially the females.

“So,” Sharon said with a wily smirk as she looked at her colleagues and friends.

“Who’s up for Round Two?”

 

* * *

 

 

**_October 15 th, 2014_ **

**_Langley, VA_ **

****

Sharon tugged her cranberry trench coat closer to her body as she departed the busy line that stretched on for several hallways, coffees in hand as she cradled the Styrofoam tray to her chest protectively. Yes, the CIA had its own Starbucks (and it was _awesome_ ). Her metallic, low heel pumps clicked quietly across the linoleum floors as she walked towards the Bullpen.

Fall had officially arrived in DC. Outside the leaves were changing colors daily, painting the city in lively hues of popping orange, spirited yellow and crimson red. Accompanying the color changes was a noticeable nip in the air, a refreshing crispness when one breathed in deeply. The city had packed away its flip-flops and tank tops, opting now to burrow in sweaters and quilted vests. That didn’t bother Sharon, autumn was her favorite season after all. Halloween was just right around the corner. 

The blonde had an amiable smile on her face as she entered the hell that was her CIA offices. She strolled idly through the large, open space, weaving deftly through bulky desks. She came to a stop at hers, plopping the tray down.

“A chai tea for Izzy.” She handed the bespectacled man his cup. He grabbed it up quickly, sinking into his desk chair with a euphoric grin spreading across his face as he sipped the warm drink. 

“Grande caramel macchiato for Antonia.” Her cousin’s girlfriend accepted the drink with a grateful smile as she sat on the corner of Izzy’s desk, legs stretched out.

“And a venti pumpkin spice latte for Greer.” Sharon couldn’t help but roll her eyes as she leveled her cousin with a thoroughly unimpressive look. “You know you’re a basic bitch, don’t you?”

“As if I care,” Greer fired back without missing a beat, her grabby hands coming Sharon’s way. “Give me!”

She swooped up her drink, chugging nearly a quarter of the coffee in a single sip. She lowered her cup with a loud, satisfied sighed as she leaned back in her chair, her feet propped carelessly atop Sharon’s desk.

“I swear, this drink is addictive.” Greer hummed to herself, eyes slipped shut in ecstasy. Sharon exchanged glances with Antonia, who was watching her girlfriend with a fond expression.

“Is she like this during sex?” Sharon stage-whispered, ignoring Greer’s kick to her ankles. She retaliated by shoving Greer’s spinning chair, sending the spy twirling. Antonia chuckled at the two blondes’ antics.

“You have no idea,” she told Sharon. Sharon shook her head, picking up her drink with a pleased sigh.

“And a Grande Americano for me with two pumps of toffee nut syrup.” She raised the cup and it was nearly at her lips when her day was ruined. Typical. 

“Carter!” Bridge yelled out in a booming voice. “Conference room. Now.”

He stalked past, his suit sharp and pristine. Sharon couldn’t help but pout as she set down her coffee. Bridge never abided coffee in mission briefings. He was such a sadistic man. With a mournful look to her cup, she pushed herself off her desk, not even bothering to shed her coat as she followed in Bridge’s wake.

The man was seated at the head of the long, imposing conference table, typing a mile a minute on his cellphone. He didn’t look at her as she plopped into the nearest seat on his right. Sharon had learned her lesson to never engage Bridge when he was on his phone. Terrible things happened when you disrupted the man from his texting. So she sat quietly, twiddling her thumbs as she listened to the clack of his fingers.

She squared back her shoulders when her superior pocketed his phone, setting his stern gaze on her. Sharon kept her eyes raised, refusing to bow down to her probing look. Several moments passed in silence before Bridge blinked, eyes flitting away, cutting the tension in the glass room.

“You’ve done decent work, Carter,” he gruffly admitted, running a hand through his tawny hair. Sharon’s eyes widened in surprise as she tilted her head towards him.

“Sir?” she inquired hesitantly. Bridge was not a man for compliments, especially for her. He let out a huff, the praise clearly begrudging as he glanced at her.

“Between your mission in Turkey and your work in New York last month…you’ve proven yourself to be somewhat capable.”

Her brows furrowed. Bridge let out a frustrated breath, whatever he desired to say was clearly not easy for him, seeing as this whole ordeal felt like pulling teeth.

 _“More than_ capable,” he amended brusquely. Sharon’s face smoothed over as she stared at her higher up.

Weeks ago this news would have had her doing a jig on the moon. When she had started at the CIA, all she wanted was Bridge’s approval, for him to see her the way SHIELD had. When he had made it abundantly clear that he didn’t like her _or_ respected her, it had driven her nearly to the edge in her hectic attempts to prove herself to the man.

It wasn’t until her stairwell talk with Catherine that she realized the true root of the problem. She didn’t need Bridge to approve of her. What she needed was to trust _herself._ Bridge had been a proxy for the insecurity that had been brewing since the fall of SHIELD and the reveal of Hydra. Everything she had ever believed herself to be had vanished when those helicarriers came falling out of the sky.

And ever since then she had been furiously trying to find herself. She thought Bridge was the way to do it, by being the best CIA agent she could be. When he rebuffed her time after time, it only allowed the seeds of doubt and anxiety to fester within her, spreading like a nasty disease until she only could perceive her faults. Luckily, for her, Catherine – as always – had set her straight.

The revelation had definitely changed her perception of her place in the CIA. She still wanted to be a kick-ass agent. But she wasn’t doing it to gain Bridge’s respect (though she would be willing to accept it if given). Everything she was going to achieve in the CIA was for her and her alone.

Still, hearing any form of praise from Bridge was startling. And if she was honest with herself, a bit weird.

Sharon placed her hands on the table, linking her fingers together as she digested the information before nodding once.

“Thank you, sir.”

Bridge’s head snapped decisively as the moment passed and then it was all business.

“I have a mission for you.” He clicked his remote and the projector came to life, displaying the image of a wiry man with raven black hair and a matching, bushy beard.

“This is Krystian Adamczyk. He’s a major player in arms trafficking throughout Eastern Europe; from Ukraine to Kosovo. Last month he was busted importing a large number of weapons into Sokovia, helping to further political conflicts there. Not that the country needs any of his help. It’s a ticking time bomb all on its own.”

Sharon remained dutifully silent as Bridge digressed. She didn’t know much about Sokovia, but she imagined the bleakness Bridge was displaying was right on the money. Bridge shook himself out of his side reverie and got back on topic promptly.

“We nearly had him in Sokovia. He got away though and understandably went to ground. He hasn’t been seen since. That’s where you come in.”

Sharon straightened in her seat as she kept her face neutral, ready for the mission at hand.

“Meet Zofia Ciolek.” The next slide flashed up, revealing the image of a young woman. She was willowy and pale, with a pleasant, round face and strident blonde hair with bold bangs across her forehead. She was very European in appearance.

“She’s Adamczyk’s main squeeze. We have reason to believe that she’s been in contact with him recently and that they are maintaining said contact.”

“What do you need me to do? Not another honeypot, I hope,” Sharon said aloud, allowing a certain edge to enter her tone. Bridge’s lips quirked up momentarily before vanishing, his face once more a mask of blank professionality.

“No, not this time. In fact, your contact with Ciolek will be minimal, but you will have to get close.”

Sharon arched an eyebrow, waiting Bridge out.

“What we need is access to her phone. You’ll trail her, grab her phone, clone it and return the device to her person without her noticing that it ever went missing. When he next reaches out, we’ll know about it. You’ll stay in Poland, tracking the phone until we can get a definitive location on Adamczyk. When we have him, you will return to the States. All in all, an easy mission.”

Bridge’s gaze cut to her as he turned the projector off. “You in, agent?”

Sharon’s face gave nothing away as she replied, “It would be my pleasure.”

Bridge briskly dismissed her, shoving a thick dossier into her hands on her way out. She returned to her desk, sitting in her chair. She opened the file, eyes nonchalantly roving over the text as she reached for her cup.

She brought it up to her mouth, grimacing when she tasted the lukewarm coffee.

Wonderful.

 

* * *

 

 

**_October 17 th, 2014_ **

**_Warsaw, Poland_ **

****

Zofia Ciolek was, all in all, a rather easy target to tail.

Sharon had been shadowing her all morning and the woman had never batted an eye or even glanced over her shoulder. She only went about her day, head in the clouds and completely unaware of her surroundings as the CIA agent observed her from a safe distance. Her target was outfitted in a bulky, grey coat that went down all the way to her ankles. She had on shapeless, neutral clothing beneath the coat. A bucket bag was tossed over her shoulder, bouncing off her hip with every step she took. Her cellphone was in the bag. She had been on it earlier, chatting in conversational Polish as she sauntered through the streets of Warsaw. When she had finished the conversation, she had tossed it in her bag without a second thought.

Sharon needed to get into that bag.

She kept her pace leisure and her face open as she glanced at passing windows while she walked, giving no indication that she was anything other than an American tourist. She was dressed in nearly all black, save for the grey beanie atop her head. It was a cool, crisp day in the sprawling Polish capital. While sunny, the air and breeze had a bite to it as it slapped Sharon’s cheeks. To offset the cold, she was bundled up in a snug, leather jacket with a stylish shearling collar to combat the nippy temperature. Matching shearling gloves were on her hands, both fashionable and functional because she was not about to leave her fingerprints on Ciolek’s phone.

Covering her eyes were dark, round sunglasses, which provided a useful barrier between her and Ciolek. All in all, she integrated well into the jostling crowds, not standing out in any perceptible way.

Sharon perked up when she saw Ciolek duck down to enter the nearest subway station beneath the street. It was the opportunity Sharon needed. She followed after her target, keeping her head down as she entered the bowel of the clean and minimalist station. She had a prepaid ticket already prepared as she scanned it, the gate opening and allowing her to pass. She kept Ciolek in sight the entire time as the two blondes stood on the busy platform, waiting for the tram to arrive.

Moments later it sped in, Sharon’s hair kicking up in the artificial breeze. She waited, letting Ciolek enter the car first. Luckily for Sharon, it was midday and the train was full of passengers. It was shockingly easy to slip past her unsuspecting target, her gloved hand dipping quickly into the purse as her fingers wrapped around the desired cell phone. In a flash, her hand was once again at her side, cellphone in tow and no one – especially Ciolek – none the wiser. Sharon wove through the packed train, coming to a stop at the caboose of the car just as the train smoothly took off down the tracks and into the darkness of the tunnels.

Keeping Ciolek in sight, Sharon leaned forward, hunching her shoulders as she pulled out a simple paperclip. With some skillful maneuvering, she had it in the miniscule pinhole on the side of the phone and pressed down. With a nearly silent click, the sim card came shooting out. Sharon removed the small device and tugged out the blank cellphone the CIA had provided from her jacket pocket. She inserted the card into the phone and activated the malware Izzy had cleverly designed. Whatever protection that existed on Ciolek’s sim card was demolished as the malware took over, unlocking everything within the circuitry. Sharon watched in avid interest as all of the sim card’s information was downloaded to her phone, cloning it perfectly.

Every call and text message Ciolek received, Sharon would receive as well. And she would never have a clue that she had been hacked.

Adamczyk was really going to regret trusting his girlfriend.

Sharon glanced up at Ciolek and found the woman standing idly, tapping her foot as the train traveled towards her desired destination. The train began slowing and Sharon could see Ciolek inching herself closer to the door.

Her window of opportunity was closing fast.

She looked back down at the phone, willing it to download faster. Finally, just as the train came to a halt at Ratusz Arsenał, the transfer was complete. Sharon popped out the sim card, replacing it in its original phone as she jumped up. Ciolek glided out of the train, her purse hanging alluringly off of her shoulder. Sharon wove expertly through the ebb and flow of the crowd as she came up from behind. She followed in Ciolek’s wake and when the moment was just right, she deposited the cellphone back into the woman’s purse. Ciolek’s steps didn’t even falter as she kept cantering forward.

Amateur.

Sharon followed her out onto the streets but idled on the curb as Ciolek was swept up into the crowds that were hurrying towards Old Town. Sharon watched her go with a self-congratulatory grin.

Sometimes, she impressed ever herself.

And just for that, she was going to buy some _karpatka_ on the CIA’s dime.

 

+++

 

Hours later found the blonde spy in her hotel room, munching on Mr. Burger fries as she waited with anticipation for the call from Adamczyk. She had shrugged off her coat, hat, and gloves, as well as kicking off her knee-high boots. She was lounging in jeans and a blue-grey sweater, absentmindedly fiddling with the elbow patches as she watched the cellphone resting innocuously on the bedside table, willing it to come to life with an incoming phone call from Ciolek’s partner.

There hadn’t been much activity on the cellphone all day. Ciolek had texted a friend, making plans for tomorrow night to attend a concert. Her mother had called in the late afternoon as Sharon was forced to listen to the two women talk _ad nauseam_ over neighborhood gossip. Sharon had nearly banged her head into the wall as she had listened, her Polish rusty as she processed the useless information.

So, yeah, she was really hoping Adamczyk called soon.

She didn’t know how much more of this she could take.

And then something miraculous happened, the phone began ringing. Sharon sprung up from her slouched position on the hotel bed. She scooped up the cellphone, looking down and seeing an unknown number dance across the screen.

With fingers crossed, she answered the call, listening in with bated breath. Ciolek spoke first, her voice breathless with giddy excitement.

_“Cześć kochanie.”_

_“Czy jesteś sam?”_ was the gruff response of an agitated male. Sharon pumped her fist in victory, doing a celebratory dancing in her room. Adamczyk was on the line, which meant he was now on the CIA’s grid and therefore trackable. Sharon hurried to the small desk in the hotel room, dropping down into the chair. She fired up her laptop as the conversation between the lovers continued. Whatever they were speaking about wasn’t of much consequence.

She logged into the CIA server and typed in the cell phone number, letting satellites do the bulk of the work. She watched as her computer began triangulating Adamczyk’s location, finding him somewhere in the world. Every couple of seconds the map closed in as his coordinates were discerned.

“Big Brother indeed,” she murmured to herself as she watched, a fascinated gleam in her eye. Within minutes the arms dealer was pinned, down to the very apartment floor in Daugavpils, Latvia.

“Why, hello there, Mr. Adamczy,” Sharon whispered to herself, a victorious smile gracing her face. She was reaching for the cellphone, ready to end the call and phone Bridge with her information. However, she stopped cold when Adamczyk uttered a familiar and dreaded word.

_Hydra._

Her feet felt like they were knocked out from underneath her and her breath was punched out of her stomach. Her hand remained frozen above the cellphone, her body paralyzed with an ominous feeling. She ignored the dull roaring in her ears as she dropped her hand to her lap, listening intently to every word Adamczyk spoke.

Apparently, Adamczyk had been hired by the Nazi cult organization to acquire for them weapons of a _certain nature._ For once, Adamczyk had been squeamish to get in bed with a terrorist sect but ultimately given in when the figure for payment was sent his way. He had dropped off the shipment only days ago. He was vague, not giving too much away. But Sharon was trained to read in between the lines.

It was like her hands had a mind of their own as she began searching through the data banks of the CIA server, finding everything she could about Hydra and any roots it had in Poland. Cross-referencing everything, it didn’t take long to pin down a possible location of said Hydra facility.

On the fringes of Białowieża Forest, near the Belarus border. It took a bit more digging to find the facility itself, as it was cloaked heavily by the trees and foliage of the primeval forest, but satellite imaging, as well as thermal scans, aided her greatly. Within an hour she had a location secured. Adamczyk and Ciolek’s conversation had long ago ended, or rather Sharon had forcibly turned the phone off when their words became a bit more… _amorous._

She sat back, observing her hard work in silence as she took in all the information she had secured. Hydra was alive and well, operating here in Poland. It had just received a hefty shipment of weaponry, thanks to Adamczyk. Who knew what they were planning with that.

Sharon didn’t quite know how to proceed. Part of her wanted to call up Bridge this instance and relay the news. Taking down an active Hydra cell was far more urgent – at least, in her opinion – then busting a dealer such as Adamczyk. However, taking down Hydra was not high on the priority list for the CIA. Her one and only Hydra related mission had been the one involving Josephine Vermis and her scumbag of a father.

But nothing since then. At least, nothing Bridge was willing to divulge. He kept things close to the vest, especially when Sharon was involved. She stood, rolling on the balls of her feet as she paced silently in her hotel room.

She should tell him what she had learned. That’s what a respectable agent would do; share information with one’s superior officer. That’s what she was trying to be: respectable, by the books, a team player. Bridge was at the very least tolerating her. She knew she should not say anything, not make any waves, not disrupt the status quo or toe the company line. But her time at SHIELD had taught her that institutions she had once believed in fervently had the ability to lie. Not only lying, but to deceive on such a large scale that they had attempted total and worldwide destruction, and she had been none the wiser until Zola had slapped her with the damning information. Institutions would say such lies were for security and peace of mind, but she knew better now. She had learned the hard way.

And so, she made her decision.

She picked up her cell phone, dialing in Bridge’s number. It would be afternoon in DC, a perfect time to check in.

 _“What do you got?”_ Bridge barked, answering promptly on the second ring.

“I have Adamczyk’s location,” she replied, robotically rattling off everything she had learned of Adamczyk. Bridge grunted as he absorbed the Intel.

 _“Good work, Carter,”_ Bridge said when she was done. _“I’ll reach out to Interpol to apprehend our guy. I expect you back on the first flight tomorrow morning.”_

Now was her time to strike.

“Respectfully, sir,” she cut in calmly, not wanting to give anything away by getting animated. “I think it would be better if I remained in Poland for a few more days.”

A moment of silence.

 _“And why’s that?”_ Bridge mulishly inquired, definitely not happy with her out of the box thinking.

“While we do have Adamczyk, his associates, buyers, and sellers remain a mystery. I can look into it, see if I can come up with anything that could be useful to us. Things he might not be willing to give away during interrogation.”

The marked silence on the other end was nearly excruciating. She had worked hard not to be on the man’s shit list, and with the suffocating quiet she suspected she was back on it. And all because she wanted to play hero and take out a Hydra base like she was Captain America or something.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

_“You have three days.”_

Sharon blinked in surprised. “Sir?”

_“Three days, Carter. And then your ass is back in DC, understood?”_

A smile spread across Sharon’s face as she bobbed her head. “Crystal.”

 _“Get to work.”_ The call ended with a click. Sharon lowered the phone and immediately went back to her computer, bringing up maps and satellite images.

And like Bridge had commanded, she got to work.

 

* * *

 

 

**_October 18 th, 2014_ **

**_Białowieża Forest, Poland_ **

****

It was dark as Sharon moved through the ancient forest, not making a sound as she crept through the trees and extensive foliage. She kept her eyes peeled ahead, ready for anything that may come her way as she followed the electronic map on her phone, bringing her towards Hydra’s coordinates.

The facility was buried deep in the forest and was exceedingly hard to find, most likely by Hydra’s design. What good is a secret base that anyone can stumble upon?

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of hiking, a clearing appeared ahead, and within it, a fortified bunker.

Bingo.

Sharon melted into the shadows, pressing herself snugly against the bark of a tree as she observed from a distance, pulling out her night vision binoculars from her utility jacket. The facility seemed to be shutting down, truck after truck rolling out with weapons, data, secrets, and men. To think, if she had arrived a day or two later, this place would be completely deserted and Hydra would have been allowed to get away, ready to wreak havoc another day.

Sharon couldn’t let that happen. But she had to be smart about this. She couldn’t storm an active base, even if it was clearing out. But when the trucks were gone, only a skeleton crew would be left. She could handle that. She had definitely handled worse before.

She waited until the last truck was pulling out and then made her move. She shot out of the forest, dashing quickly to the facility as she dodged the beams of light coming from spotlights above. Her feet pounded quietly over gravel as she ran up alongside the walls of the facility, flattening her body against them. She cautiously ventured forward, looking for an entrance.

Just as she came upon one, she felt a perceptible shift in the air. She tensed, risking a glance over her shoulder.

_Smack._

Pain erupted across her face as the butt of a rifle collided with her temple. She collapsed instantly, vision going spotty as she fell to the ground. She didn’t even have a moment to regain her senses when two meaty hands came out of the darkness, roughly grabbing hold of her shoulders and dragging her to her feet.

“Hmm,” he mused in a telltale German accent. “What do we have here?”

He shoved her forward into a contingent of Hydra soldiers. Her head was fuzzy and she pretty sure she was seeing double, so she had no idea if there were ten men before her or twenty.

“Take her,” the first man commanded as the men encircled her. They kept hold of her shoulders as they thrust her into the facility. She was woozy and tripping over her feet as she was helpless to do anything but follow. All of them were packing machine guns. If she so much as reached for the pistol at her side, she knew she’d end up with a hundred bullets in her body.

They propelled her into the nearly empty bunker. It was dark and dank, the grimness was broken by harsh, industrial lights that cast shadows throughout the complex. Sharon was touted to the middle of the wide-open warehouse and unceremoniously forced to her knees. The cement was unforgiving as she hit it. 

She kept her head down, not even glancing up when pristine and polished boots marched towards her, coming to a stop right in front of her. Her mind was whirling a mile a minute, trying to find any solution out of the sticky mess she had created for herself.

“Who sent you?” the sharp voice demanded to know. Sharon stubbornly kept her mouth shut. She should have known silence would be a trigger to people associated with Hydra. A hand fisted tightly in her hair as her head was violently jerked up, sending shockwaves throughout her body.

“I said,” the man hissed, leaning in as the two stared at one another. “Who sent you?”

And because Sharon just couldn’t help herself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just taking a nice walk-" 

His palm came flying out of nowhere, the slap nearly sending the blonde careening to the side. Agony blossomed across her cheek as she struggled to say upright on her knees. God, she hated Nazis. They really, _really_ sucked.

“I will not repeat myself again, _Fräulein,”_ the man told her with a restrained sense of calm. His gloved hand clenching into a fist as he loomed over her.

“You can repeat yourself all you want,” she spat out spitefully. “I’m not talking.”

An aggressive shudder spread across the man’s face before his skin smoothed and all that was left was icy finality.

“Very well,” he spoke, looking past her to the group of men, who were waiting at the ready. He nodded once and the man who had gotten Sharon with his rifle stepped forward, placing the barrel of the gun at her temple.

Sharon tensed, panic sweeping through her. This couldn’t be it. She couldn’t die here. This was the absolute worst way to go. She hadn’t left any clues to her whereabouts. She hadn’t reached out to Greer or Izzy or Steve or even Natasha. No one knew where she was. If they killed her and threw her body in the woods or in a river, no one would ever find her.

She’d just…fade away. Like she had never been here at all.

_Goddamn it._

She was a fucking CIA agent. She had once been one of the very best of SHIELD. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. She wasn’t meant to die here, in this sad little bunker in Poland at Hydra's hand. She had so much left in her, so much more to give.

Her heart was pounding within her chest, threatening to rip free. She was breathing heavily, the hysteria finally beginning to settle in as the severity of the situation finally made itself known.

She wasn’t dying here.

The barrel knocked against her forehead as she heard the click of the safety being released.

This was it. If she didn’t come up with something _now,_ she was dead.

 _“Auf Wiedersehen, Fräulein,”_ were the mocking final words of her short life.

But then…something strange occurred.

Out of the shadows, a grenade came rolling across the cracked pavement, coming to a stop only feet away from the Hydra soldiers. Sharon stared at it in numb shock as horrified amazement surged through the group.

“What the-"

_Boom._

It went off, sending heat and fire everywhere as the impact of the explosion sent nearly half of the men flying. Frenzied screams broke out across the bunker. Sharon, still on her knees, knew an opportunity when it came knocking.

The rifle was still pressed to her temple, its owner standing paralyzed as he stared at the scene in front of him. She used that to her advantage. Quick as lightning, she knocked the weapon away. She elbowed his groin and when he leaned forward in anguish, she grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and flipped him over her shoulders as he landed hard on the concrete. She rolled onto her back and performed a swift kip-up, landing on her feet.

Just as she did a shadowed figure came dropping down from the rafters above. He took out two men with his landing and jumped head first into fighting with the third. Sharon’s eyes widened as she watched the figure demolish through the men. As much as she would have liked to watch, she had problems of her own as two soldiers came gunning for her.

She ducked a swinging punch and landed a knee strike of her own, knocking the first man back several feet. She dropped to her feet and knocking him off his feet in a sweeping rear kick. She bounced up, going toe-to-toe with the other soldier, locked together in hand to hand combat. She got the upper hand easily enough and had him unconscious. She spun around, watching just as the figure did away with his foes.

He was crouched down, knelt over the knocked out soldier, with his back to Sharon as she stared at him. The hostiles were done away with. Sharon quickly grabbed a stray pistol, raising her arm and aiming it at the man.

“Stay back!” she precariously warned, still a little unsteady on her feet. She really hoped she didn’t have _another_ concussion.

Ignoring her tip the man rose to his feet in a smooth, single motion. Sharon’s grip tightened on the gun as she continued aiming it at the back of the man’s head.

“I mean it!” she yelled. She had no idea who this man was or if he was friend or foe. She wasn’t about to take any chances, especially when she had just nearly died. She didn’t know him and she sure as hell didn’t trust his motives, even if the mystery man had saved her life.

“I’ll shoot!”

What, was he deaf? Why wouldn’t he listen to her? Didn't he see that she was willing to shoot him if provoked? 

The man turned, locking gazes with her. Sharon’s breath left her body instantly as she stared at him in surprise, mouth dropping open.

She couldn’t believe who she was looking at.

“Barnes?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always enjoy a good cliffhanger, don't you? :) So, yes, Bucky is back on the scene. Question is: will he be friend or foe to Sharon next chapter? Will he think she's Hydra? Will he remember her from DC? What do you think will happen? Also, it's kind of funny how Steve and Sam have spent months looking for Bucky and Sharon just stumbled upon him in Poland, taking down Hydra, as you do. 
> 
> I'm glad Sharon is no longer so desperate for Bridge's approval. She still wants to do her best, but not at the sake of losing her identity and bending over backwards for Bridge and the CIA. Catherine's words of encouragement are sticking with her. Which is good, because our girl was in a deep spiral. Hopefully she is on the up and up from here on out. 
> 
> Planned update: 07/02
> 
> Translations  
> Cześć kochanie - Hello, darling  
> Czy jesteś sam? - Are you alone?
> 
> Pic time!
> 
> Sharon playing laser tag:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/42006519004/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/42006518824/in/dateposted-public/)   
> 
> 
> Sharon at the CIA:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/42006518944/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Sharon in Warsaw:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/42006519644/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/42006518664/in/dateposted-public/)   
> 
> 
> Sharon in her hotel room:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/42006519464/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/42006519324/in/dateposted-public/)   
> 
> 
> Sharon going after Hydra:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/42006519264/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/42006519514/in/dateposted-public/)


	23. What Happened to the Soul That You Used to Be?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharon remained unimpressed as she tucked her pistol into the waistband of her jeans. “So that’s what you do now?” she sarcastically asked, “Going base to base, razing them to the ground and killing everyone in sight?”
> 
> She wasn’t judging him. She hated Hydra too. It just seemed an odd way to spend one’s free time, considering this was the first time he had been free in more than 70 years. Shouldn’t he, like, get a hobby? Even Steve had a hobby and he was the resident expert on not having a life.
> 
> Barnes glared. “I don’t kill anymore.”

**_,October 18 th, 2014_ **

**_Białowieża Forest, Poland_ **

 

“Barnes?”

Sharon couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Standing right before her eyes was none other than _freakin’_ James Buchanan Barnes, sometimes Bucky Barnes, sometimes the Winter Soldier.

Question was: who was he right now?

Sharon kept her gun aimed at the hulking figure, a plethora of emotions slamming through her at alarming speeds, threatening to knock her off her feet. Fear, mistrust, curiosity, and even wonder were swirling in her so quickly, she didn’t know how to feel as she took in his appearance. He was as imposing as ever, even without the tactical gear of Hydra. He was still outfitted in black, but the cache of weapons he carried as the Winter Soldier was missing, though Sharon wasn’t naïve enough to believe he didn’t have at least a dozen weapons hidden across his body.

What the hell was he doing here? Steve and Sam had been hunting him for months, so obviously she had to be the one to run into him in a Polish forest of all places. Honestly, what was her life?

Barnes seemed equally cagey as he eyed the CIA agent, his massive shoulders taut with tension and haggard face set in a neutral scowl. His hair, just as long as it had been in DC, framed his angular face, serving as a barrier between the two, a makeshift mask to hide his features.

The silence between them seemed to stretch on for an eternity as the two locked gazes, trying to anticipate each other’s next moves. Barnes’ hands curled into rigid fists at his sides as he breathed evenly. Sharon's fingers tightened around her gun, prepared for anything the assassin may throw at her. Steve might be his best friend, but Sharon would do anything to survive against the most feared killer in history.

What happened next completely surprised her.

“I remember you,” Barnes acknowledged in a raspy tone, voice clearly not used to speaking. Sharon hated to admit it, but she nearly jumped out of her skin at the unexpected noise. Barnes ignored her startled reaction as he slowly continued. “You were on the bridge in DC. I shot you.”

His grey-blue eyes darted to her left shoulder before quickly looking away, lips turning down into a frown before they set into a thin line. Sharon blinked stupidly for a moment, her brain misfiring before it got with the program.

If Barnes wanted to talk, she was willing to talk.

“You did,” she tentatively responded, eyes still tracing his every movement warily. “It hurt like a bitch.”

“You work with Steve,” Barnes countered, ignoring her last statement. Sharon’s eyes widened at the mention of Steve. For months Steve had been adamant that Barnes remembered him, that that was the reason he had saved him from drowning in the Potomac. Sometimes it seemed that the only reason Steve could keep going on his mission to bring in Barnes from the cold was the staunch belief that his friend was out there and that he remembered Steve. Besides Peggy, Barnes was Steve’s only link to the past. And here Sharon was, conversing with said link to the past.

Sharon couldn’t help but peer at the man closely, cataloging every minute expression he was giving her.

“I used to,” she quietly replied, tilting her head thoughtfully. “You remember Steve?”

Barnes flinched, eyes downcast as he stared a hole in the concrete floor. His left-hand fist tightened and even with the distance between them, Sharon could hear the faint whirl of his metal arm as plates shifted into place. The appendage was hidden by both his dark jacket and the glove he wore, but it still taunted Sharon, reminding her of the damage he could do when provoked.

She really didn’t want to be on the wrong side of that arm again. Once was more than enough for her, thank you very much.

Barnes shrugged at her question, still refusing to look her in the eye. “Somewhat.”

Hmm…well, that was better than nothing. And knowing Steve, he’d probably be over the moon by Barnes’ vague admission. Barnes’ eyes flashed as he glanced at her appraisingly, sizing her up.

“You’re SHIELD.”

Sharon blew out a breath, a sardonic grin crossing her face before it quickly disappeared. “Not anymore. I didn’t like working for Nazis.”

Barnes snorted roughly, face contorting in shock at the sound that escaped from his mouth. He almost seemed affronted that he could make such a noise. Sharon bit down her own smile as she watched him. For a mass murderer, he was oddly endearing. God help her, she was going to need so much therapy after this.

“Who does?” he gruffly countered, body still so tightly wound up, almost as if he was afraid of what he would do if he stopped being so vigilantly on guard. At that moment Sharon realized that he wasn’t afraid of her, but rather _for_ her. He didn’t trust himself not to hurt her.

Huh.

Making a split-second decision, Sharon lowered the gun. She had observed him long enough to know that she wasn’t dealing with the Winter Soldier. He may not be the Bucky Barnes of Steve’s nostalgic memories and he was most definitely still not 100% in her book, but she believed that he wouldn’t hurt her unless she attacked first.

He was more like a wounded animal than anything else. And how does one deal with a wounded animal? Slowly, cautiously and with a little trust on your end.

“I’m with the CIA nowadays,” she told him. “I’m Agent Sharon Carter.”

Barnes started as something foreign flickered through his eyes. “Carter?” he softly asked, lips set in a determined line as he racked his brain. The name was familiar, circling through the haze of his haphazard memories.

“As in…?”

“She’s my aunt,” Sharon interrupted, well-worn to living in Peggy’s sizeable shadow. It made her heart just a shade warmer to know that Barnes remembered Peggy. Sharon recalled childhood tales of Peggy’s fondness for Barnes. He had always been her go-to man about commiserating over the stupid stunts Steve pulled. He had been the Sam to Peggy’s Sharon. No matter what century he was in, Steve found a way to pull stupid antics.

“Wow,” Barnes remarked bewilderedly, placing his hands on his hips as he shook his shaggy head before muttering under his breath, “He really does have a type.”

Sharon’s brows furrowed. She had no idea what to do with _that,_ so she was just going to ignore it in favor of more pressing questions.

“What are you doing here?” she inquired, gesturing to the now abandoned Hydra facility. Barnes grunted, his eyes darkening as he looked around.

“What do you think?” he shot her a dirty look. “I’m taking these fuckin’ cockroaches out, one by one.”

Sharon remained unimpressed as she tucked her pistol into the waistband of her jeans. “So that’s what you do now?” she sarcastically asked. “Going base to base, razing them to the ground, and killing everyone in sight?”

She wasn’t judging him. She hated Hydra too. It just seemed an odd way to spend one’s free time, considering this was the first time he had been free in more than _70 years._ Shouldn’t he, like, get a hobby? Even Steve had a hobby and he was the resident expert on not having a life.

Barnes glared. “I don’t kill anymore,” he mulishly stressed as if it was insane of her to ever think he’d cross that line, even though he was an infamous assassin who had killed JFK of all people. So, really, Sharon wasn’t feeling all that apologetic for insulting him.

She looked around skeptically at the unconscious bodies of men littered throughout the warehouse. Yeah, maybe they weren’t _dead,_ but she was pretty sure they were either paralyzed or in comas now, so…her point still stood. She glanced at Barnes, who only shrugged nonchalantly.

“I never claimed I was a saint.”

Sharon rolled her eyes, a huffed breath of amusement escaping her as she shook her head. There was that famous dry sense of humor. Barnes’ lips quirked up into a small grin, but the smile quickly turned into a grimace when he flexed his shoulders. He cursed, hand reaching up to his right-hand shoulder.

Sharon’s eyes narrowed as she took a ginger step forward. With how dark his jacket was she hadn’t noticed before, but a growing stain had been developing throughout their conversation. Blood. She could kick herself for being so obtuse. She had been blinded by Barnes and hadn’t been fully paying attention. Such a rookie move for a spy of her pedigree.

“You got shot?” she asked in shrill disbelief. This was the Winter Soldier, for crying out loud! He was the deadliest assassin of the 20th century. And he had gotten shot by a Hydra goon?

So disappointing.

“Yeah, well,” Barnes growled as he probed at the wound, peeling away both his jacket and henley to get a better look. “If I hadn’t had to save your sorry ass, then maybe I wouldn’t have gotten shot. Ever cross your mind, huh?”

God, super-soldiers were so sassy.

Luckily for her, she had years of dealing with Steve, so she was well-equipped to handle anything Barnes tossed her way. No longer outwardly afraid of the man, she came up to his side, eyeing the exposed wound. It wasn’t a pretty sight and was bleeding rather freely.

Worst of all, the bullet was still firmly lodged in his shoulder.

Sharon winced in sympathy, her own wound throbbing in phantom pain. “You need to get that out of your shoulder,” she matter-of-factly remarked.

Barnes ignored her, staggering forward as he groaned in pain from the jostling movement.

“I’ll be fine,” he stubbornly stated; another thing Sharon was more than familiar with after more than two years stuck with Steve ‘I’ll Walk It off’ Rogers.

“No, you won’t,” she countered. “Trust me, I know how painful a gunshot wound to the shoulder is.”

“I said I’m fine,” Barnes barked, moving away from her as she tried to get a better look at the wound. Sharon angrily stared, not backing down. He glared daggers back, breathing heavily through his nose like a bull readying to charge.

Alright. If this is how he wanted to do play, then she’d bring the game to him.

Quick as lightning, she raised her palm and smacked it down hard against the laceration, upsetting it immediately. Barnes’ eyes widened in pain as he lurched forward from the strength of her blow.

“SON OF A BITCH!” he yelled, attempting to twist out of her hold like a slippery snake.

“See,” she told him primly, ignoring the foul language that was foaming out of his mouth. “You’re not fine.”

“You’re sadistic,” he got out through panting breaths as he remained hunched over. “You know that?”

Sharon shrugged carelessly, mind already made up on their next move. Something told her she was going to regret this, but she couldn’t just let Barnes slither out into the night when he was injured like this. Steve would never forgive her. And, well…she had her own reasons for helping Barnes.

“C’mon,” she gently began directing him towards the open doors that would lead them back to the forest. “I’m taking you to my hotel room.”

Barnes luckily didn’t put up much of a fight, but he did bat his eyes as he slyly said, “Hotel room? After one date?”

He croakily chuckled, ignoring the look Sharon was giving him. “I have to say, Carter, I’m not that kind of boy.”

His lips upturned into a gleeful smirk as he went for his crescendo. “What would Steve say?”

She raised her palm up threateningly, hovering it above his shoulder, ready for round two of Smacking the Dumbass. Barnes flinched, barring his teeth, but he had no more bark to him as they wandered out of the warehouse, leaving Hydra behind. The forest was quiet save for the sounds of nature, the sky black above them, dotted with numerous stars that created a celestial tapestry.

Sharon tried to herd him towards the location of her rental car, but Barnes sidestepped her, walking towards the thick tree line.

“My car’s the other way,” she told him, watching his back. He chuckled to himself before volleying back.

“I need to grab something. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“You have 30 seconds,” she corrected him impatiently, not liking that he was planning on leaving her sight. “Or I’m coming after you.”

The chuckle came again as Barnes looked over his shoulder. “Sweetheart, if I really wanted to run, you’d never find me.”

And with that, he disappeared into the shadows. Sharon’s foot tapped relentlessly on the gravel as she watched every tick of her watch.

_…25…26…27…28…29…_

Barnes reappeared, backpack held securely in his grip as he hugged it to his chest. Sharon raised an eyebrow as he came up to her.

“What’s in there?” she asked, half worried he say a bomb or something equally ludicrous. She wouldn’t put it past him.

“Stuff,” he answered evasively, clearly not in a mood to share.

Sharon sighed and held out her arm, offering to carry the load for the impaired man. He jumped back, arms wrapping tighter around the backpack like it was some kind of lifeline.

“No one touches this but me,” he rumbled lowly, looking ready to bristle up like an enraged cat ready to do battle. Sharon took a step back, hands held up defensively. It was the first time since this freaky counter had started that Barnes had acted like anything other than a contained wire, but now he looked ready to spark.

“Alright, jeez,” she mumbled carefully. “No touching the bag, got it.”                  

Barnes looked at her for a long moment before he must have decided that she was no longer a threat to him or his possessions. He let out a breath before turning away.

“Where’s this car?” he muttered, stalking ahead before Sharon could get a word in. The blonde shook her head before taking off after her new companion. She led him through the woods for a good couple of miles before her car appeared, parked at the edge of the ancient forest. Pulling her keys out of her jacket, she unlocked the doors and slid into the driver’s seat. A moment later Barnes was sluggishly falling into the passenger seat, backpack settled into his lap. He leaned back heavily against the headrest, breaths labored as his head rolled about.

She knew that wound had affected him more than he had let on.

“It’s a rental,” she told him as she tugged on the seatbelt, clicking it into place. “So no blood on the upholstery.”

She ignited the car, headlights blinding as they illuminated the nighttime scene around her. She shifted the car into gear, pressed down on the gas and then they were off on a bumpy dirt road. They drove on it for a while, before turning onto a main road and heading to the nearest highway.

“Where we goin’?” he listlessly asked, voice cutting through the confined silence of the car.

“Bialystok,” she answered, eyes on the road ahead of them. “It’ll be an hour or more until we arrive.”

“Hmm,” Barnes hummed to himself, eyes slipping shut as his head lulled back. “They have good _kiełbasa lisiecka._ ”

His eyes remained closed the rest of their journey, his breaths deep and peaceful. Sharon wasn’t a fool, she knew he was on guard, ready for anything at the drop of a hat. Still, she couldn’t help but examine him from time to time as she drove, eyeing the man slumped in the seat next to her.

He was so radically different from the man who had attempted to kill her in DC.

That man had been an unrelenting machine. He had come after her with ferocious intensity, never ceasing, never stopping until the mission was completed. Had it not been for Steve, he would have killed her in the streets of DC without mercy or remorse.

And now…she was helping him. There was something wrong with her, she just knew it.

But Barnes wasn’t the Winter Soldier anymore. She didn’t know who he was, and something told her that he didn’t know either. What she did know was that he needed her help. And she would be hard pressed to turn him away in his current condition.

The hour flew by quickly (helped by the fact she was one of the few cars out so late) and soon enough she was pulling up to the quaint hotel she had checked into only that morning. She parked in the street and turned off the car. She wasn’t surprised to see Barnes sitting up straight in his seat, shoulders set rigidly as the car lights turned off. She knew he hadn’t really been sleeping.

He was a silent shadow nipping at her heels as he followed her into the lobby, head bent down so that no security cameras would catch his sharp features. The unlikely pair took the stairs up to the third floor where her cozy room was located. Barnes was like a brick wall at her back as she pulled out her key and undid the lock. He swiftly entered the hotel room after her, eyes scanning throughout the small space, spying every exit and entry point. He strode towards the window, pulling aside the curtain to peer out to the dark street below.

Sharon unzipped her jacket and tossed it aside, revealing a snug white henley. She pushed up her sleeves as she wandered into the bathroom, flicking on the light and digging through her toiletry bag for the first aid kit she always took on business trips. She found it nestled between her toothpaste and emergency tampons.

“Take off your jacket and shirt,” she directed to Barnes as she walked back into the bedroom. Barnes arched an eyebrow as he dropped the translucent curtain, it fluttering back into place.

“This is movin’ awfully fast for me, Carter,” he postured with a dirty grin. “At least buy me dinner first.”

Sharon’s eyes rolled heavenward. What had she done to deserve this?

“I’ll slap you again,” she forewarned, absolutely serious in her conviction to get him to shut the hell up.

After a short yet epic staredown, Barnes broke first and sauntered over to the small, rickety table situated in the corner of her room. It had two chairs seated there. He pulled out one and looking at her all the while he peeled off his jacket, followed by his blood-soaked shirt, leaving his torso completely bare from the waist up.

She was met with the sight of an impressively cut body without a single ounce of fat located anywhere. It was as if he was chiseled out of marble, lines and dips riveting in their appearance. Now, his body wasn’t at the mythical level of Thor or even as drool-worthy as Steve’s, but still, _hot damn._ Sharon could feel her cheeks heating up and with the suggestive leer Barnes sent her way, he had seen it as well.

God damn it, she hated super-soldiers.

Even more noteworthy than Barnes’ body was the metal arm that gleamed in the warm light of her hotel room. It was a fine piece of machinery that gave her chills as her eyes traced over every joint and plate. She swallowed, forcing herself to think like a spy and not some weird fangirl.

“Sit,” she briskly ordered, turning away to rifle through the first aid kit. Behind her, she heard the wooden chair squeak as Barnes lowered himself onto it.

“All I have is rubbing alcohol,” she told him, spinning around with supplies in hand.

“Doesn’t matter,” he replied, biting back a groan as he rotated the injured shoulder. “I can’t get sick with the serum.”

Sharon nodded to herself, making up her mind on how this was going to go down. She opened the bottle of disinfectant and dabbed a couple of cotton balls. When they were damp she stepped up to Barnes, wading in through his spread open legs as she leaned down towards the wound. He barely flinched when the alcohol made contact with his skin. She gently wiped away the blood, gaining a better vantage point of the wound itself. She pulled out a pair of tweezers and glanced at Barnes. He nodded once before biting down hard on his lips, a resigned look settling in his gaze as he stared at the far wall. Something told her this wasn’t the most painful thing he had ever endured.

With his seal of approval, she began digging through the gash, trying to locate that pesky bullet. She found it soon enough, her tweezers snagging it.

“So,” she asked conversationally as she leaned in closer to his shoulder. “What’s your favorite movie?”

Barnes stared at her.

“What?” she asked as she maneuvered the tweezers. “It’s a fair question.”

“I’ve spent the past 70 years as a weapon of a terrorist organization,” he growled darkly. “I’ve killed men, women, and children in ways you can never imagine. And you want to know what my favorite movie is?”

Sharon nodded, eyes still rooted to the task at hand.

“What the hell kind of – OWWWW!”

He broke off, yells muffled into his other shoulder as Sharon yanked out the bullet. It was covered in blood, but completely intact, which was nice, because she didn’t want to continue pulling out shards.

“Got it,” she announced in a nonplussed tone as she dropped the bullet into the nearest waste bin. Barnes was looking at her, face riddled with confusion.

“It helps if the patient can’t see the painful part coming,” she explained as she disinfected the now clear wound, before wrapping it with gauze. It was a good temporary measure, but it was still only temporary.

“You should really get stitches,” she told him as he slumped in his chair, rolling said shoulder experimentally. He waved off the suggestion.

“Don’t need ‘em. The wound will be healed in a few hours.”

Of course. She had forgotten how unfair it was that Steve (and now Barnes) could heal at such enhanced speeds while she and the rest of the world’s population suffered weeks of discomfort. Assholes.

Sharon dropped into the other chair, feeling like a weight had been lifted off her slender shoulders now that Barnes wasn’t in danger of dying or…losing his other arm to infection. Wouldn’t that be something? She smiled to herself just thinking about it.

“What’s so funny?” Barnes asked, sending a questioning frown her way.

“Nothing,” she answered quickly, eyes darting away. Barnes grunted but paid her no attention as he examined his injury before finally deciding that she had done a decent job and hadn’t secretly attempted to kill him.

She watched him, really letting herself look at him for the first time since he found her in the Hydra facility.

It was an odd sight, sitting across from a man who should have died decades before, but instead had been turned into a ruthless killer by an evil cult. Even weirder was the fact that he was Bucky Barnes.

 _The_ Bucky Barnes.

Throughout their interactions she had seen flashes – momentary fragments that had been there and then gone, slipping through her fingers like grains of sand – of the man she had loved hearing stories of as a small child. She could see such flashes now as she observed him, the man he once was flickering in and out of view like a fuzzy TV screen.

He still had the roguish good looks, the cocky demeanor, the rakish grin. He still had those sharp eyes that could see a hostile hundreds of yards away, taking them out with a single shot. Deep down, buried beneath the torture and atrocities Hydra had forced upon him, was still the man Steve called his friend.

God, Sharon remembered being so in awe of Bucky Barnes as a kid. Hell, she had dressed up as him for three consecutive Halloweens; outfitted in a cute blue pea coat and brown trousers, a toy rifle slung over her little shoulders as she marched through the neighborhood, collecting chocolate treats.

Captain America may have been the leader of the Howling Commandos, but Bucky Barnes had been its heart. Captain America was the shiny, sparkling ideal that everyone strived to be. But Bucky Barnes…he was _the real deal._ Captain America was too good, too pure for the likes of everyday life. He was who you wanted to be, Barnes was who you actually were.

Rough around the edges, dirt beneath his nails because sometimes one had to get dirty in order to do the right thing, and a hard exterior covering a kind and good heart.

Man, when she was a kid Bucky Barnes had been everything to her.

“What’re you looking at?” Barnes asked, his voice jolting Sharon out of her nostalgic thoughts. She blinked owlishly, realizing he had caught her staring. And once again her face betrayed her as she felt a troublesome blush break out across her cheeks, making her whole face rosy.

“Oh!” she exclaimed in an embarrassingly high-pitched voice. “Sorry. It’s just this is the first time I’ve ever gotten near you without you trying to kill me.”

At Barnes’ blank look, she quickly continued, blabbering on without a filter. “It’s a big moment for me. You were always my favorite out of the Commandos, though Uncle Monty was a close second. In fact, growing up I had a Bucky Bear.”

He had been her constant companion in her young years, accompanying her on all her adventures. And as the grandniece of Peggy Carter, there had been many, many adventures.

Barnes’ gaze remained unreadable and he seemed more like a statue than anything else as he sat still in his chair.

Sharon felt herself floundering as she tried to explain. “It’s a teddy bear, but it had your-"

“Yeah, I know what they are,” Barnes interrupted dismissively, finally looking like a person again as he sagged in his seat, crossing his arms across his broad chest. “They began manufacturing them in ’44. Sent out a prototype to the Front. The Howlies wouldn’t quit makin’ fun of me. I nearly socked Dum-Dum in the chin because of it.”

Laughter bubbled out of Sharon as she nodded in remembrance. “Yep, it was one of his favorite stories to tell us kids as we were growing up. He said while you got one punch in, he knocked you out with his famous uppercut.”

Barnes shook his head disparagingly. “Of course he did. That man wouldn’t know the truth even if it wore a pretty red number and was serenading him from across the bar.”

Barnes’ lips faintly curled up as he quietly said, “My ma wrote me a letter once…the company that manufactured those abominations had sent her three of ‘em. One each for my sisters: Becca, Rosie, and little Lily. They loved those damn bears….”

His face shuttered before hollowing out, leaving nothing but a vacant expression in its place. Sharon’s throat constricted at the sight.

Just like Steve, he was a man out of time. And just like Steve, he had no one here for him. Everyone he had once loved – family, friends, lovers – all gone, lost to time and history.

Speaking of Steve…

“What do you remember,” she quietly inquired. “About Steve?”

Barnes stiffened.

“What about Steve?” he slowly asked, his voice more a snarl than anything else.

Sharon continued looking at him, forcing him to meet her gaze. “He’s looking for you. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

A hard glint entered Barnes’ eyes. “He’s not exactly subtle about it. He and the birdbrain have been making a mess of Europe as they’ve tried tailing me. He’s somewhere in Russia right now, isn’t he?”

Sharon’s eyes flashed with interest. Barnes was keeping tabs on Steve. She nodded affirmatively.

Barnes huffed, shaking his head as he muttered, “Of course he is. He’s never been able to leave things alone. Like a dog with a bone.”

Sharon bit down the smile that was trying to break free due to that quite accurate imagery. Suddenly a golden retriever with a shield on its back was running through her mind. She squashed the image, cute as it was. She wasn’t about to let Barnes off the hook.

“He’s looking for you because he’s concerned.”

Barnes seethed, his chair suddenly looking a size too small to contain his bulky frame. “Did I ask for him to follow after me? Huh? Did I?”

Sharon sighed as she kicked out her legs. “He just wants to help you-"

“Help me?” Barnes snapped his voice as thin as a razor blade. “How the hell can he help me?”

He raised his metal arm, jabbing a finger into his temple. “I can’t trust what’s in my head. I only have a handful of memories and the ones I do have I can’t make head or tails of them. When they happened, where they happened, if they’re even real or just dreams I conjured up.”

He swelled up only to deflate as he stared flatly down at the table that separated them. “And Steve…I remember him two ways: big and small, and I can’t reconcile the two of ‘em.”

Sharon was sympathetic. “There was the serum-"

“I know!” Barnes yelled, face contorted in rage, his voice bouncing off the paper-thin walls of her hotel room, leaving them in an eerie silence once the reverberations fell away. He twisted in his chair, furiously avoiding looking at her.

“I went to that fancy Captain America exhibit, I read all the panels. The idiot took a serum without even knowin' what it could do to him. I get that, but that doesn’t mean I remember it or that I can make it make sense in my head.”

His hands were resting atop the table, clenched into fists. His metal arm whirled in fainting warning. The noise caused Sharon to sit up straight in her chair, hand at the ready at her hip where her pistol was hidden.

The silence between them stretched on.

Barnes' shoulders dropped with defeat as he finally glanced at her, his voice ragged as he spoke. “I don’t want to talk to Steve. I’m no good to him right now, not when I’m… _like this.”_

He gestured to all of him with a self-deprecating grin that was a poor attempt to hide the frazzled eyes and tired frown. Sharon tilted her head as she considered the man across from her.

“Shouldn’t you let Steve decide that for himself?”

Barnes chuckled, though there was nothing funny about their current situation. His eyes were trained on her as he replied.

“If you know anything about Steve, you know his self-preservation skills are absolute shit. I mean, God damn it, he crashed his plane into the Arctic Circle! Look what happened in DC!” His voice was raised in blustery baritone.

“I nearly killed him because Hydra told me to. I didn’t question itt and I sure as hell didn’t fight it. He was my mission. And he…he was just gonna let me do it. Every time I hit him, and shot him, and stabbed him…he didn’t _fight back_. Sure, he saved all those people from those helicarriers, but he let me hurt him. All because I’m his friend. Because he thought he could reach me, make me more than the Soldier.”

Barnes lips twisted into a bittersweet glower. “No, I’m the last thing Steve needs right now.”

Sharon’s stomach churned. Barnes’ pain was so apparent she could practically feel it bleeding into her. But she didn’t know Barnes and he sure as hell didn’t have her loyalty the way Steve did.

“I worked with Steve for two years at SHIELD,” she softly began, not really knowing where she was going with this, but needing to express it all the same. “And for those two years he didn’t know my name, he had no idea that I was related to Peggy.”

Barnes snorted. “I bet that went over well when he found out.”

Sharon’s lips curled up briefly. “Yeah. No. He went ballistic when he found out. It nearly destroyed our working relationship, it almost ruined whatever future I hoped we could one day have as friends. He had always been wary of me, he could always tell I was hiding something from him. But the way he looked at me when he learned that she was my aunt…well, I’ll never forget it.”

Her eyes locked with Barnes. “You must know how it feels when Steve believes in you; when he has unending faith in you. It’s like standing in the sun on a summer day, you can feel the warmth beneath your skin, toes curling into the earth beneath you. Because when Steve’s all in, he’s all in and he gives all of himself to you.”

A smile spread across her face involuntarily before falling away. “But…when you lose that trust, it’s like being cast out of your home into the dreary cold of winter. You’re forced to live in shadows remembering that at one time the sun shone down on you, that it graced you with its light. I can’t live in the dark again when it comes to Steve.”

She made sure Barnes was looking at her as she said, “I can’t keep your secret, Barnes. It’s not worth it, not to me.”

His eyes narrowed. “Is that a threat, Carter?”

She scowled in return, “I’m not taking advantage of his trust just because you don’t want to talk to him.”

Barnes face reddened and he looked like a bomb ready to explode. He breathed loudly through his nose as he let the breath go, calming down. However, his resolve was icy cold when he spoke next.

“You wanna call Steve?” he challenged. “Call Steve.”

She blinked uneasily, ready for the other shoe to drop. Barnes didn’t let her down.  

“He and the birdbrain are in Russia, right? Combing through my old stomping grounds. He’ll come the second you tell him I’m here.”

He shook his head before continuing in a factual tone. “It’ll take hours for them to get here, I’ll be long gone by then. You can’t contain me, even with the injured shoulder I can take you out, it’d be as easy as snapping a twig.”

He snapped the fingers of his metal arm, driving the threat home. Sharon flinched as the noise pierced the relative quietness of the hotel room.

“I’ll disappear, become the ghost that intelligence agencies believe me to be. And I’ll never resurface. Steve will never find me.”

His eyes hardened as he looked at her. “And _that_ will be on you.”

A stare-down commenced between the two. A minute passed. Then another. Finally, Sharon – so incredibly drained from the long night – broke first as her eyes flitted away, missing the gleam of triumph that swept through Barnes’ gaze.

“We’ll table the topic, _for now,”_ she added before Barnes could get cocky.

“I know I can’t force you to stay,” she continued. “But with your shoulder, I would feel better if you stayed the night. Tomorrow, well, we can be on opposite sides of the Steve debate tomorrow. But, for right now, I just want to sleep.”

She could feel the tiredness seeping into her bloodstream, making everything around her just a fraction of a second too slow. Her head was foggy, her limbs graceless and her resolve quickly losing ground.

Barnes’ face turned contemplative and then utterly blank as he snapped his head once. It was about as good of a response as she could have hoped for. His head swiveled towards the narrow bathroom.

“You mind if I shower?” he asked as he turned back towards her. She raised her shoulders in a groggy half-shrug.

“You going to try and sneak out through the window?”

His laughter was more of a rusty bark but it was genuine. His eyes crinkled as he laughed and a dimple popped out of his left cheek. She imagined that he hadn’t found many things to laugh about since his liberation from Hydra. He stood, muscles rippling with every precise movement.

“And deprive myself of your company? Never.” His hands were already reaching for his belt as he ambled towards the bathroom. His jeans were halfway down his hips when he kicked the door shut. Moments later she could hear the drizzle of water as the shower started up.

She slumped back into her chair, running a weary hand over her face as she stared up at the popcorn ceiling.

She had no idea what she was doing. Never in her wildest dreams did she ever think she’d stumble across Barnes. And now they were spending the night together. If only her ten-year-old self could see her now.

Sharon sighed as she stood, cracking her neck from side to side. She let out a moan of pleasure as she heard the clicks of her joints popping. She walked to her duffle bag, quickly stripping off her jeans and changing into a pair of comfy sweatpants. By the time Barnes – wet hair dripping everywhere, back in his jeans but still infuriatingly shirtless with a towel slung around his neck – strolled out of the bathroom, she had placed a pillow and thin blanket on the floor for the super-soldier. His eyebrow arched up as he eyed the scene.

“The floor?” he drawled, nose twitching imperviously. “I thought we had something special, Carter.”

Sharon loudly groaned. “I swear to God, Barnes. Try me one more time.”

Barnes raised his hands defensively as he ran the towel through his hair, tousling the long strands until they were damp.

“Alright, alright. No more jokes about our night of passion that will surely break Steve’s heart. Got it.”

Sharon counted to ten as her eyes bore holes into the ceiling above her. And when she was done the urge to strangle him was still there. Instead of doing that, she plopped down on her bed, keeping her back to Barnes as she sprawled across the mattress. Her gun was already beneath her pillow, ready at a moment’s notice.

A minute passed before Barnes exhaled deeply. She heard the floor creak as he gingerly lowered himself down. There was a faint rustling as he nestled down, blanket loosely thrown over him. Sharon remained staring at the plain white wall. When he was done moving she reached for the bedside lamp and flicked it off.

The room went dark.

“Goodnight,” she carefully called out, her words getting sucked into the blackout surrounding them.

Barnes grunted in response. “Night.”

He was as silent as the grave on the floor. She couldn’t even hear him breathing down below. She slowly rolled onto her side and internally cursed when the bed creaked slightly, sounding like a bomb in the silence of the room. She froze, her breath catching in her throat. Barnes remained quiet. She cautiously settled onto her back, hands resting on her stomach as she stared up at the ceiling, her eyes cutting through the darkness. She breathed evenly through her nose, though her breaths felt too loud in the confined space of the hotel room.

She had no idea if Barnes was sleeping. She didn’t know if he trusted her enough to fall asleep in her presence. Worse, he might not even trust himself.

Time passed slowly.

Somehow, without even being made aware of it, she drifted into a light state of slumber that was in the in-between waking and sleep.

It offered a peaceful tranquility…at least, until the screaming began.

She sat up straight, gun in her grip as she had it aimed at an imaginary foe. Her brain didn’t know which way was up. All she knew was that something was very wrong.

She watched as a shadowy figure barged into the bathroom, lights switching on as the harshness of fluorescents flooded into the room. Sharon blinked agitatedly as she ducked her head down to hide away from the unwelcomed brightness.

Finally, everything clicked into place.

Barnes.

She was out of her bed in an instant, creeping towards the bathroom, gun still in hand. She pressed herself to the wall next to the open doorway leading into the narrow bathroom. Keeping herself squeezed into the wall she peeked inside.

Barnes was crouched on the floor, shoulders curled into himself as he rocked back and forth frantically, head in his hands.  

“32557038.” She could hear him muttering to himself, head bent as his shoulders shook. From her distance, she could notice a thin layer of sweat covering his bare torso, the sheen of it noticeable underneath the unforgiving lights.

“Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes,” he whispered deliriously as if trying to convince himself. “32557038.”

Sharon stepped forward to the huddled form. “Barnes?” she gently called out, making him aware of her presence. He tensed, head snapping up. He refused to look at her, his body still turned away.

She stopped right behind him, staring down at his crumpled body. In this light, she couldn’t help but notice the gnarly scar tissue covering his left shoulder, right where the metal arm was fused to his skin.

She reached out, her hand hovering beneath his sweaty skin. As if sensing the movement, he lurched away before her hand could make contact.

“Don’t touch me!” he snarled, voice broken like a wounded animal that couldn’t trust a human to help it after the human had been the one to trap it. Sharon took a step back, knowing when she wasn’t wanted.

“Okay,” she calmly spoke, keeping her voice serene and light so as to not further spook the man. She backed out of the bathroom, understanding his need for space.

“I’ll be out here if you need me, okay?”

He didn’t respond, not that she had expected him to. She left him in the bathroom, wandering back into the bedroom. She sat down heavily at the edge of her bed, the gun resting next to her innocuously. She felt fatigued the moment she sat down upon the mattress.

That had been…something else.

If she was a betting woman, her money would be on a nightmare being the reason for Barnes’ near hysteria. She wasn’t surprised. Nightmares were par the course for people in their field. They were often called on to interact with the very worst humanity had to offer.

And Barnes…he had been Hydra’s puppet for more than 70 years.

Really, it was a miracle he was sane, or at least as sane as he seemed to be. She could distantly feel a chill creeping across her skin. She rubbed her arms absentmindedly, trying to bring some feeling back into her cold bones.

The man in the bathroom wasn’t the Winter Soldier.

But he wasn’t Bucky Barnes either.

She didn’t know how human he could really be, living the life he had led. She couldn’t imagine having to carry around so much pain and suffering (both inflicted on him and what he had inflicted onto others) on a daily basis.

Maybe Barnes had been right…maybe Steve couldn’t help him.

Her stomach recoiled at the thought. She pushed down the doubt as she massaged her temples. It was too late (or too early) to be thinking such troublesome thoughts. She startled when she looked up and saw Barnes standing in the doorway, silent as a ghost. He shut the door until it was only open a crack, allowing a sliver of light to shine into the darkened room.

He was no longer sweating and the frenetic energy that had been thrumming through his body before now seemed contained and forcibly put away. His eyes were haunted though, a hollowness to them that left Sharon’s throat constricting. He ignored her as he stalked past the bed and back to his nest on the floor.

“Was it a nightmare?” she asked as he picked up his pillow, punching it a few times to firm it up. He dropped it on the floor with a plop and nodded, still not looking at her.

She never knew when to leave things well enough alone. “Do you have them often?”

He shrugged indifferently, eyes trained on the scratchy blanket on the floor.

“Do you…want to talk about it?” The words had her cringing the moment they spilled out of her mouth without her consent.

Barnes glanced her way, eyes flashing dispassionately before his expression turned aloof. “Trust me, Carter.” His voice was rough with suppressed emotions. “You don’t want to know what’s in my head.”

And with that the conversation was over.

He dropped back down to the floor, rolling onto his side and away from her probing eyes. She watched him for a moment before sighing and crawling back up her bed. She placed her head on the pillow and kept her pistol within hand’s reach.

The silence was suffocating, but she wouldn’t be the one to break it.

That night, sleep felt far away.

 

* * *

 

 

**_October 19 th, 2014 _ **

**_Bialystok, Poland_ **

****

She awoke to the sight of Barnes sitting at the edge of her bed, back to her as he stared at the nothingness before him.

“Mornin’,” he casually called over his shoulder as she pushed herself up onto her elbows. She blinked wearily as her eyes darted to the clock on the nightstand. It was just after 8am. She blew out a breath. She had most definitely not gotten enough rest the night before.

She leaned against the headboard as she warily eyed Barnes’ backside, watching the muscles of his back constrict and move with every breath he took. She had half hoped that last night had been an elaborate dream, derived from one too many conversations with Steve about his seemingly hopeless mission to track down his lost friend.

Unfortunately for her, this was her reality.

She nibbled on her bottom lip as she observed Barnes at the end of her bed. He was still and quiet, like a living statue one encounters in tourist traps in major cities, bustling for a bit of pocket change.

“How’s the shoulder?” she groggily inquired, running a hand through her rampant bed hair. He undid the gauze wrapping around it before rotating said body part experimentally, humming when it met his specifications. From her vantage point, she could see that the wound was healing nicely, a pale pink scar already forming. She imagined that by this time tomorrow he would be 100% again. Lucky bastard.

She threw back the sheets, swinging her legs around as her feet landed atop the squishy carpet. She stood, idly stretching her arms. She walked past Barnes, picking up her duffle bag along the way as she ventured into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. She stopped at the vanity, taking in her disgruntled appearance in the mirror.

The strain of last night was evident in her face. She had hardly slept and the sleep she had gotten had been far from restful. She couldn’t help but remember Barnes’ trembling body right here on the bathroom tiles she stood upon. She saw a lot of shit in her line of work, but the absolute fear that had been in Barnes was something else entirely. What had he seen that created such terror?

Sharon turned on the faucet as cold water came pouring out. Leaning down, she cupped the water and splashed it across her face, letting it shock her awake. She moved methodically yet leisurely through her morning routine of skincare, brushing teeth and taming her long hair. She unhurriedly dressed in black jeans and a nondescript black t-shirt.

When there was nothing left to do she turned and dawdled at the closed door. Suddenly the world outside the little bathroom seemed entirely too big for her. Once she stepped outside this bathroom, her duties and responsibilities would come hurling back.

She had duties, to the CIA…and to Steve.

And she had no idea what to do with Barnes.

She let out a shallow breath and could already feel the tendrils of a headache weaving through her mind, ready to attack at any time like a blaring horn. Shaking her head, she felt her game face sliding into place. She was a woman of action, loitering on the sidelines had never been her forte. With such decisiveness in hand, she opened the door and marched back into the hotel room.

Barnes was still there. He hadn’t moved an inch since she had left him to his own devices.

If ever put on the stand she would lie, but a small flare of disappointment ignited in her when she saw him sitting at the edge of the bed.

She had almost expected him to bolt while she took so long in the bathroom. She almost had wanted him to. After his nightmare only hours before it was all too much for her to reasonably deal with. He had real demons lurking within him.

She couldn’t help him. And she had her reservations that Steve could after what she witnessed the night before. More than that, she didn’t know how Steve could handle such nightmares. She knew him, he’d be gutted to see Barnes in so much agony while unable to do anything about it. And the last thing she wanted was Steve in pain. The man already carried his guilt around like a personal carry-on. She had no wish in adding to his grief by subjecting him to Barnes’ wildly erratic mental state.

So, yeah, she had halfway hoped Barnes had taken the opportunity to run, never to be seen again.

But he was still here.

And decisions needed to be made.

“Get up,” she ordered as she breezed past him. “I’m buying you breakfast.”

She dropped down into one of the chairs and slipped into stylish black booties. Her tongue poked out of her mouth in concentration as she tied up the laces. She reached for a brown quilted bomber jacket and shrugged it on. It’d be a perfect shield to the crisp autumn morning outside.

Barnes blinked owlishly at the command, probably the nicest directions he had ever been given in his history as the Winter Soldier. His gaze was scrutinizing as he watched her, eyebrow raised up to his hairline. When he saw how serious she was he frowned.

“You sure know how to make a guy feel special, Carter,” he mumbled as he stood up. He didn’t fight her as he swept up his backpack, pulling out a dark green shirt thankfully devoid of blood. He pulled the glove over his metal hand, effectively hiding it from curious eyes. He pulled out a baseball cap, jamming it on his head until it was snug against his skull.

Super-soldiers and their halfp-assed disguises.

He zipped up the backpack, doubling checking it before swinging it over his shoulders and tightening the straps until they were secure. Honestly, what was in this backpack? A portal to Narnia? Sharon shook her head as she picked up her purse and tossed in her pistol for good measure. She held the door open for Barnes and gestured for him to go first.

He stuck close to her side as they exited through the hotel lobby. He was on wide alert as they strolled through the streets, his eyes taking in every person that passed them, assessing them accordingly as potential threats. Sharon was much more laidback as she enjoyed the morning stroll.

She brightened up as they entered Kosciuszko Market Square. The wide open space was clean and quiet, the only noticeable noise was the pleasant trickle of water coming from the fountain at the far side of the square. Sharon meandered to an outdoor table with a large umbrella above it, casting shade beneath them as she and Barnes sat down. Soon enough a cheerful waitress ambled up, ready to take their orders. Sharon rattled hers off in adequate Polish before turning her gaze towards Barnes, raising her eyebrows questioningly.

A smug look passed through his eyes as he turned to the young woman with a charming grin. In perfect Polish, he ordered what amounted to a small feast. He ended his order with a titillating wink that had the waitress blushing as she retreated.

He turned to Sharon with a self-satisfied air. “I can speak 37 languages fluently, and that’s not counting dialects.”

Sharon whistled lowly as she settled into her seat. “Impressive.”

“Yeah, one of the many _talents_ Hydra instilled in me.” His grin turned acerbic before it vanished altogether. Soon enough their food and drinks arrived. Sharon sipped at her double espresso, relishing in the warmth that spread throughout her body. Barnes wasted no time digging into his scrambled eggs and cold cuts as he munched happily on the array of food. He spared nothing and even stole Sharon’s toast right out from under her.

When their bellies were filled, their meal paid for and the market place filled with bustling people the lingering questions of last night began to creep in, ready to disrupt the tentative peace they had established between them.

There was one pesky topic that needed to be discussed.

Steve.

Sharon opened her mouth, ready to act on behalf of her former partner and see what groundwork she could make with Barnes into meeting up with the Avenger. Barnes, however, beat her to the punch.

“Do you have any photos of him?” he blurted out, an embarrassed flush crossing his cheeks as his eyes flitted down to the table. His gloved hand was tinkering with his silverware nervously.

He glanced at Sharon sheepishly. “Real photos, not the ones from the history books or paparazzi shots when he’s going to get a cup of coffee. Real pictures of him and his life.”

Sharon’s tongue darted out as she wet her lips. She pulled out her cellphone and pulled up photos she had furtively taken of Steve over the last two years; snapshots of long days at the Trisk, a few selfies she and Natasha had pressured him into, a picture of them at Catherine and Jessie’s wedding as they made their way through the candy bar. She handed the device to Barnes and watched with interest as he thumbed through them, his lips occasionally quirking up into a grin at what he saw.

“Is that you?” he asked, angling the phone towards her so she could see. “On his shoulders.”

She grimaced but forced out a nod as she abashedly explained the incident. “It was my friend’s bachelorette party. I was drunk. _Very_ drunk.”

Barnes chuckled to himself as he took the phone back, looking at the next picture. Whatever it was it definitely had his attention as he arched an eyebrow.

“Why do you have a picture of his butt?”

Sharon shrugged casually as she sipped her espresso.

“Posterity.”

“Odd,” Barnes remarked good-naturedly. “In my day, we showed our appreciation by writing letters to our sweethearts, not saving untoward pictures of our companions.”

“Welcome to the 21st century. Pics or it didn’t happen.” She gestured to the wide world around them as he laughed again, the sound throaty. He handed the phone back, a wistful grin settling naturally across his face.

“It’s good,” he declared somberly. “That he has people lookin’ after his dumb ass.”

Sharon’s lips curled up into an affectionate smile as she agreed. “It is pretty dumb.”

“And perky,” Barnes teasingly interjected, waiting for her to play along.

“Eh,” she shrugged with faux-indifference. “I think it’s rather flat.”

Barnes huffed out an amused breath as he leaned back in his chair. “I like you, Carter.”

The fangirl within her was freaking out but she kept her composure as she sent a smile his way. He wasn’t half bad when not trying to kill her. She picked up her coffee cup, bringing it up to her lips.

“And personally,” Barnes continued conspiratorially as he leaned towards her, “Between you and me, I’m just glad he finally worked up the nerve to get himself a girlfriend. He used to be such a disaster with women. I mean, hell, ol’ Pegs shot at him because he was so oblivious. If it hadn’t been for those USO girls, the man would have gone into the ice a virgin, which is just a cryin’ shame.”

He laughed along to his own joke, immensely pleased with himself and his quick wit. Sharon – on the other hand – had a very different reaction. She immediately choked on her espresso, coughing it up as it came flying out of her mouth. She immediately reached for a nearby napkin, mopping off the mess on her chin and jacket. Barnes' eyes were wide as he watched her from the safety of his seat.

“Steve and I?” she all but shrieked like a crazed banshee, “It’s not like that.” Her hair was slapping her cheeks with how forcibly she was shaking her head.

Barnes seemed unperturbed as he looked at her. “You’re tellin’ me you’re not dating Steve?”

“No!” Sharon yelled before hastily lowering her voice. “Where the hell did you get that idea?”

He crossed his arms as he slyly grinned. “My memory might have as many holes in it as a block of Swiss cheese, but even I know that when you go around referrin’ to someone as the sun it means you’re over the moon for ‘em.”

Sharon gawked as she sat slumped in her chair. “W-What?” she stuttered, trying to get a tap on her emotions. “No. I. Ugh. I was talking about his trust in people!” She gesticulated widely.

“Uh-huh.” Barnes was unconvinced.

“It was a simile!” she wailed hopelessly. “It might have been a little… _poetic-"_

Barnes snorted loudly. “Just a smidge.”

“It didn’t mean anything!” She didn’t even know why she was wasting her time trying to convince him. What did it matter if he was completely off the mark about her and Steve? It meant nothing to her.

“Awfully defensive over nothing,” he stated, trapping her.

Her eyes narrowed as she glared. “I hate you.”

He beamed broadly as if she just paid him a compliment of the highest order.

“God, of course, you’re Steve’s best friend,” she complained, flicking her dirty napkin his way. He easily evaded the dirty cloth. “You’re just as much of an asshole as he is. Tell me, was there something in the water in Brooklyn? Was everyone dicks?”

“Hey now,” he wagged his finger at her with an exaggeratedly distressed expression. “Is that any way to speak to your elders? For shame.”

He eyed her as the humor faded away. “Seriously though? You and Steve aren’t winding somebody’s little ball of yarn?”

A long beat of silence passed.

“I don't even want to know what that means,” she murmured incredulously, feeling just a little traumatized on the inside. Whoever said never meet your idols had definitely foreseen situations such as this. She would never look at her Bucky Bear the same way again.

“And now,” she stressed for Barnes’ benefit. “What Steve and I have is purely platonic. It will always be platonic.”

“Yeah, you say that now,” Barnes volleyed back with wiggling eyebrows. “But Steve and a beautifully headstrong Carter who kicks ass and takes names? It’s definitely goin’ to become that. Just you wait.”

Sharon really didn’t know what to do with _that._ So, as always, she ignored it. Ignoring it seemed like the safest option.

The quiet settled in as the two knew they could no longer dance around the subject at hand. They needed to talk about Steve.

“You really don’t want to talk to him, do you?” she inquired patiently. Barnes blew out a breath, eyes downcast as he seemed to grapple internally with himself. Finally, he nodded once.

“Steve means well,” he gruffly explained, eyes trained on his metal hand that was resting in his lap. “But he’s expectin’ his best pal come back to life, ready to go dancing and settin’ him up on blind dates. I may not know who I am, but I know I’m sure as hell not that guy anymore. Steve…he’d just be settin’ himself up for disappointment.”

Sharon pursed her lips as she sat deep in thought. The mere idea of lying to Steve was clawing at her insides, the guilt so much stronger than it had ever been over her secrecy about her name and Peggy. Probably because she had so much more to lose now than she had before. Because she had Steve’s trust now.

“If I let you go…if I don’t tell Steve that I saw you,” she coolly mused. “Where will you go? What will you do?”

Barnes seemed surprised at the question. She imagined he wasn’t often asked for his opinion. He shifted awkwardly in his seat. “I’d leave Hydra sure the hell alone.”

He noticed her puzzled look and was quick to elaborate. “I thought takin’ them out, makin’ them feel the same pain they inflicted on me would…make me feel better, or make me feel something at the very least. And it did…in the beginning. But now…now I don’t really feel anything at all. And the more I fight ‘em, the more it feels like they’re winning.”

He looked up, locking gazes with her. “I guess, what I’d really like is to go somewhere no one knows my name and I don’t know theirs. Somewhere I don’t have to constantly look over my shoulder, waiting for a Hydra operative to appear out of the woodwork.”

He shrugged once before contemplating to himself, “I hear Romania is nice this time of year.”

Sharon’s heart went out for him, it really did. He was her childhood hero, a larger than life figure in her memories. Steve was her friend, he’d want to know that she had stumbled across Barnes. All he wanted was his friend back in his life.

She knew what she had to do.

It was time to start thinking like a spy.

“Steve and Sam have scoured nearly all of the European continent looking for you,” she acknowledged stoically, stating the facts in an analytical manner. She leaned towards Barnes, making sure his attention was solely on her. “Make them look elsewhere. Plant false leads far away, in places like South America or Asia. It’ll get them off your back for at least a few months. By then you’ll be so underground, they’ll be running circles around you without ever knowing you’re there.”

Barnes’ eyes narrowed as he tried to get a read on her. He must have seen the truth in her eyes because he relaxed if only a fraction.

“Why you helping me?” he asked, genuinely curious. “What about the sun, huh? I thought you were loyal to Steve.”

“I am,” she stated steadfastly, the truth ringing clear in her voice. She looked away, biting her lip thoughtfully.

“With the fall of SHIELD, and the revelation that Hydra was poisoning it from the very beginning and having to my find my new place in the world at the CIA, the one thing that makes sense anymore is my loyalty to Steve. He’s the _only_ thing that makes sense sometimes.”

She set her eyes on Barnes, hoping he’d understand all the things she was trying to say.

“That said, he would understand why I’m doing this. Because as much as it would hurt him to know that he isn’t what you need right now, that he can’t help you the way he wants to, he’d still want the best for you. So I’m going to do that for him.”

Her lips curled up into a small grin. “Also, like I said before…you are my favorite Howling Commando. So, I really have no choice but to help you.”

Barnes stared for a long moment before his face split into a broad grin, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “You know what, Carter? You’re not half bad.”

Her smile grew. “On second impression, neither are you. Personality aside.”

The teasing nature of their conversation ebbed away as she got serious again. “I can’t promise that Steve will stop looking for you. He is… _stubborn,_ to say the least.”

Barnes’ eyes rolled like an old pro. “You’re tellin’ me. Back in Brooklyn when he was little it was like owning an aggressive Chihuahua. I couldn’t take him anywhere without him initiating some kind of fight. We were banned from half the dance halls in Brooklyn. What a punk.”

The giggle that escaped Sharon was light and carefree. When she had come to Poland this was the last thing she could have had ever expected. But now, sitting here with him, she was glad that Barnes had saved her in that Hydra facility. She had an opportunity to see the slivers of the man Steve was so devoted to and she wasn’t disappointed.

Bucky Barnes really was the real deal, Winter Soldier or not.

Surprising herself for another time, she reached for the customer copy of her receipt and scribbled quickly on the back of it with the pen the waitress had left behind. When she was done, she ripped it off and passed it towards Barnes.

“Here, this is my phone number. If you ever need anything or maybe just want someone to talk to, you know where to find me.”

Barnes’ hand hovered undecidedly above the slip of paper. Finally, he picked it up and pocketed it.

She had done all she could do.

It was time to go.

Placing her hands on her hips she surveyed the lovely scene around her. It was serene in this little town square, the morning passing by at a lazy pace. She nodded to herself before glancing down at Barnes, who was watching her right back.

“Take care of yourself, Barnes.”

He blinked once as solidarity passed through the unlikely pair.

“You too, Carter.”

And with that Sharon walked away. She tugged her jacket closer when a brisk breeze blew by, ruffling her hair. When she was at the edge of the market place, she slowed down and allowed herself one final look back.

She peeked over her shoulder, eyes going back to the scenic table they had sat at. It was empty, plates already cleared away.

Barnes had vanished.

Like he had never been there at all.

 

* * *

 

 

**_October 20 th, 2014_ **

**_Washington, D.C._ **

 

It was late when Sharon ambled into her darkened apartment. She listlessly flicked on the hallway lights, grimacing when the brightness assaulted her eyes. She huffed disgruntledly as she dropped her duffle bag off onto the floor in the middle of the hallway. Her shoes followed next as she recklessly kicked them aside. She scooped up the mail that had accumulated on her side table and walked down the hallway, undoing the buttons of her taupe wool coat. She shrugged out of it, hanging it in the hallway closet, leaving her in a comfy navy sweater with a red and white stripe running down the sleeves.

Her hair was in a messy side braid that was hanging loosely off her shoulder. Her skin felt itchy from sitting all day in various seats, and who knew what foreign contaminants were clinging to her clothing? She could smell the staleness of the artificial air of the airplane embedded into her skin, making her nose twitch distastefully.

She needed a shower.

She wandered into her kitchen, disinterestedly sorting through bills and junk mail. She perked up when she saw a colorful postcard buried among the minutia. She picked it up as the vibrant vision of Maya Bay in Thailand greeted her. Water so blue and clear it looked like a dream and rocky bluffs out at sea created a truly captivating scene. She flipped the postcard, eyes tracing a familiar loopy scrawl.

_Wish you were here, boss!_

_~ B_

A tender smile appeared across Sharon’s weary face as she stared down at her protégé’s shout-out.

“Thanks, Br,” she whispered to the quiet of her kitchen as she stepped up to her refrigerator and with a magnet, hung the postcard up along with all the others Bri had sent from her worldwide backpacking excursion. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to Bri’s trajectory and no hints about where she’d go in the future. She was like the wind, going where she pleased and changing direction at any given moment.

The calmness was disrupted by a ringing in Sharon’s jean pocket. With an exhausted exhale, she fished out her cell phone, breath catching when she saw who was calling her.

**Steve Rogers**

Her heart flip-flopped and her palms were sweaty as she accepted the call, bringing the phone up to her ear.

“Hello?”

_“Sharon, hi.”_

An involuntary smile appeared as Sharon lazily leaned against her granite countertops, letting her head lull back tiredly. She could feel the stress of travel beginning to fade away as Steve’s soothing voice filled her ear.

“Hey, stranger. What’s up?”

 _“Nothing much,”_ he answered pleasantly. _“Just wanted to check in.”_

“You must have ESP,” she joked. “I just walked in through the front door of my apartment.”

 _“Ah, yes.”_ His voice took on a teasing tone. _“Another benefit of the serum, I am also a full blown psychic. I can read your palm sometime, tell you your future.”_

A bubbly snort worked its way out of Sharon’s mouth as she threw her head back, laughing without a care.

“Dork,” she muttered affectionately.

_“I try. So, how was Poland?”_

The goodwill in Sharon’s body immediately fled at Steve’s innocent inquiry. Suddenly she was forced to remember the events that had transpired in Poland. All the things she had done, and the things she hadn’t. The new secret she was keeping from Steve after promising nothing but transparency between them.

There were so many answers to such a simple question.

_I saw Barnes._

_We talked about you._

_He’s not the Winter Soldier, but he’s not your best friend either._

_I let him go._

_I hope you can forgive me._

But of course, she didn’t say any of those things.

“If I’m being honest, it was pretty boring,” she unemotionally remarked. If the lie pierced her heart and caused it to falter in its beat, well, no one but her would ever know.

Steve, completely oblivious on the other side of the world, responded jovially. _“What? The spy lifestyle not exciting enough for you?”_

“You know me,” she volleyed back easily. “I laugh in the face of danger.”

His chuckle was warm in her ear and it almost was enough to distract her from the lie she had told him.

 _“You have time to talk?”_ he asked, a bit bashful. As if their conversations weren’t the highlight of her day at times. Idiot. He still seemed not to fully get how this whole friendship thing worked.

“For you?” she rhetorically quipped with a small grin. “Always.”

A moment of silence on the line.

Then…

 _“Good.,”_ Steve answered. She could hear the smile in his voice. _“Because I have an exceptionally funny Sam story for you.”_

“Yeah?” she laughed. “Well don’t leave me hanging. The suspense will kill me.”

And as Steve regaled her about Sam’s latest international blunder, she could almost fool herself into thinking that she wasn’t withholding the truth from him. That she was exactly the person he thought her to be.

She was a spy, after all.

Lying was second nature.

Even to herself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how late this is. Man, this was so massive to write. Twenty-eight pages! More than 11,000 words. It was a beast and it seemed unending at times. I hope everyone enjoys it though. 
> 
> Huh. A weird thing happened while I was writing this chapter, Sharon and Bucky have more chemistry than I ever thought they would. And with him being her childhood hero you know that she's just a little gaga over him. But have no fear, Bucky would never truly hit on Steve's girl. Even if Sharon's isn't technically Steve's girl...yet. But I had fun bouncing them off one another, showing some hints of who Bucky used to be, who he is now and who he is trying to be. He's definitely a tricky character to nail due to how complex and nuanced he is. I can only hope I did him justice. 
> 
> I also hope I got across how deeply rooted Sharon's feelings for Steve are. They've been so gradual that she doesn't even notice that they're there. But hopefully you can see how important Steve and his opinion of her is to her. He is really becoming a central figure in her life. And when the Winter Soldier thinks you're dating, you should be dating. 
> 
> And now Sharon's keeping secrets from Steve again. It didn't work so well for her last time, I wonder how it will go this time. What do you think will happen? Will she tell him? Will he learn about it another way? How will he react? 
> 
> As a sidenot, I have begun another Staron multi-chapter fic, I Came Back Howling. If you love Staron, Buckynat and werewolves, you should really check it out. The slow burn won't be quite as glacial and there will be some hot and heavy action, if that floats your boat. Check it out! 
> 
> Would love to hear your thoughts on the chapter. Please review! 
> 
> Pic time! 
> 
> Sharon in her hotel room:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/41329566500/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Sharon getting breakfast w/ Bucky:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/41329566640/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/41329566400/in/dateposted-public/)   
> 
> 
> Sharon back in DC:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/41329566790/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/41329566340/in/dateposted-public/)   
> 
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/41329566730/in/dateposted-public/)   
> 


	24. Built on a Skeleton of Fractured Parts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were met with a surprising sight.
> 
> “Natasha?” Steve croaked out, eyes wide with bewilderment. He blinked once, twice, three times, but she was still there. Vibrant red hair, unperturbed green eyes that were clocking the two men’s movements, and a familiar coy smirk in place on her face.

**_December 24 th, 1990 _ **

**_Classified Location, Russia_ **

****

It was dark. And cold.

The wind whipped outside, creating an entire whiteout as the blustering, winter blizzard raged on. The walls rattled and shook, crying out pitifully as the gusts of wind slammed into the building over and over again, like swells of waves during a tumultuous storm.

To drown out the sounds of the wind, a scratchy record was spinning, the classical strains of the _pas de deux_ of Giselle’s second act echoing through the cavernous space of the dance studio.

Only two occupants were in it.

One was a girl, no more than six years old with scarlet red hair tightly wrapped in a bun atop her little head.

She was positioned in the center of the room. Shoulders straight back, head raised, short arms and legs taut as she shifted from position to position,

First…second…third…fourth…fifth…

A small knife came whittling out of the shadows, flying past the girl’s raised arms as it embedded itself into the wall behind her. The hilt of the blade shuddered before stilling.

 _“Еще раз,"_ a voice ordered from the surrounding darkness. The girl’s eyes darted towards the gloom as her instructor remained hidden to her, a bloom of thick, cigar smoke engulfing his entire person.

He could have been a ghost. But the girl knew how real he was. She had the scars to prove it. She momentarily wobbled in place before straightening herself and beginning again. This time she only made it to third position when another knife came hurtling past her.

_Thud._

“Again,” the darkness commanded. And so it continued.

_Thud._

“Again.”

_Thud._

“Again.”

The knife came faster than any of the others and as it raced past, the edge of the knife’s blade nicked the young girl’s cheek.

She cried out in shock, arms dropping and feet falling flat upon the wooden floors. With a trembling hand, she reached up to touch the stinging wound. When she lowered her hand she saw the stickiness of blood coating her fingertips.

Against her will tears began pooling at the corners of her eyes, running down her cheeks even as she stubbornly sniffled, trying to keep them at bay.

The shadows shifted as a hulking, larger than life man emerged from them. He stalked towards the girl, the harsh light shining down upon them making his face indistinguishable.

She bowed her head in shame. She could feel the warm slide of blood as it slid down her face.

“Did I give you permission to stop?” the man taunted as he stopped before her. His form covered her entirely, sucking all the light from her as she trembled in the dreary shade of his body. She mutely shook her head, knowing that the longer she took to answer the worse the punishment would be.

“Use your words, girl,” her instructor hissed. “Did I give you permission, hmm?”

Keeping her head down, the child forced her mouth to work. “N-no, teacher, you did not.”

The man leaned down, their faces only inches apart as he glared at her. She could smell the spice of tobacco clinging to him and the hint of brandy on his breath.

“Then why did you stop?”

“I…I’m bleeding…” her words faded as his eyes turned cold with anger.

He grabbed her chin, holding it so tightly that her teeth chattered painfully as he squeezed. Her forcibly moved her head, exposing the cut to him.

“You call this blood?” he accused, finger swiping harshly at the wound, ignoring the girl’s flinch at the merciless contact.

“One day you will understand just how much blood a human body can spill. This is nothing more than a paper cut.” He released her in disgust and she nearly toppled over, but it was only by sheer will alone that she remained standing.

“I am sorry, teacher,” she beseeched him, blinking back tears and whimpers. The man only sighed as he stood to his full height, towering over the small form.

This time when he reached for her, his touch was gentle as his palm engulfed the side of her face, holding her entire head in the palm of his calloused hand. He tilted her face up towards him, but all she could see were shadows as he peered down at her, musing thoughtfully.

“One day, little Natalia.” His voice was almost kind. “You shall be my most beautiful spider. So deadly you will kill men with only one bite. But only if you want it enough.”

He gazed down at her long and hard as his hand slipped away, leaving her unmoored and lost at sea.

“Do you?” he pressed. “Want it enough?”

Silence, then her head was bobbing up and down, red hair still immaculate in its tight bun.

 _“Да, учитель,”_ she whispered. The man – Niko Constantin – snapped his head and returned to his seat, the darkness of the room making him once again invisible to her.

“Again,” he barked.

Little Natalia set her feet and raised her arms, shifting into position.

First…second…third…fourth…fifth…

 

* * *

 

 

**_October 25 th, 2014_ **

**_St. Petersburg_ **

****

“Well, I for one found the tour of the Winter Palace very informative.”

Sam humphed, shaking his head as he trudged behind Steve up the stairs towards their hotel room.

“I can’t believe Anastasia died like that. She was supposed to be reunited with her grandmother and make cute babies with Dimitri,” he grumbled to himself as he shook out his jacket, letting the rain from outside slide off the fabric.

Steve paused on the top landing, throwing a perplexed look over his broad shoulders. Sam shrugged self-consciously as he avoided the super-soldier’s eyes.

“My niece’s favorite movie is _Anastasia._ It’s not that bad; the songs are catchy.”

A pleasant laugh rumbled out of Steve’s chest as he kept walking, Sam lumbering after behind him.

“This is why you can’t take movies as gospel when it comes to historical events. Just look at the ones I was in during the War.”

Sam barked out a surprised laugh as his lips curved up while he remembered a rest day when they had been in Belarus. They had spent the day watching all the old movies and newsreels of Captain America and his Howling Commandos. Sam had never laughed so much in his life.

“Man, those were _cheesy!”_ he crowed loudly as he began swiping at air, his feet dancing back and forth like an expert boxer.

“I’ll punch out Hitler for America!”

Steve took the joking like a champ, but he even couldn’t fight the smile that wanted to break out across his face. He smacked Sam’s shoulder good-naturedly as they finally came upon their room. In a flash, the door was unlocked and swinging open as the two men ambled into the room.

They were met with a surprising sight.

“Natasha?” Steve croaked out, eyes wide with bewilderment. He blinked once, twice, three times, but she was still there. Vibrant red hair, unperturbed green eyes that were clocking the two men’s movements, and a familiar coy smirk in place on her face.

“That’s Laura Matthers to you, stud,” she greeted blithely as she stood up in one smooth motion. She sent a playful wink over Steve’s shoulder to Sam as the VA counselor snorted quietly to himself.

Steve only continued to gape, completely at a lost at this sudden turn of events. He hadn’t seen or heard from Natasha in months, not since the fall of the Triskelion. She had gone off the grid, doing…whatever it is spies do when they’re out of business. Part of him had wondered if he’d ever see her again.

And now here she was, in his hotel room.

Something told him that this wasn’t a social call.

“What are you doing here?” he inquired with suspicious eyes. He was happy to see her, but he had trepidations about what exactly her visit entailed. 

Natasha’s red lips grew into a teasing smile as she countered effortlessly. “Can’t a girl come say hi to her friends without having an ulterior motive?”

Steve frowned, lips set into a stern line.

“Nat,” he warned. She was completely unconcerned with his tone as she pulled a folder seemingly out of thin air, producing it from behind her as she held it up in the light.

“I’m here for a little _quid pro quo_ , Rogers.”

Oh, yeah, this was going to be trouble.

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed as he continued standing his ground. “What kind of _quid pro quo_?”

Her eyes gleamed before her gaze became as infuriatingly unflappable as ever. “The kind where you scratch my back and I scratch yours by giving you the contents of this folder.”

“What’s in the folder?” Sam chimed in, stepping up so that he and Steve were side by side, shoulders brushing together. Sam’s expression was skeptical as he folded his arms across his chest, waiting for Natasha to speak.

Her eyes remained steadily on Steve as she spoke. “Only the most recent location of your erstwhile best friend.”

Steve’s heart fluttered within his rib cage.

Bucky.

Without thinking he lunged forward, but the spy gracefully eluded his bulky body by dancing back.

“Whoa, there, big guy,” she cautioned as she held the folder out of reach. “Slow your roll.”

He grunted in annoyance. “Nat-"

“You can have this,” she told him, a trace of gentle understanding in her voice before practicality took over as it so often did with her. “Once you help me.”

“Help you with what?” Sam – unwavering as ever – asked, brows knitted together as he watched two of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes act like bickering children. And these people were supposed to _defend_ them against world-ending threats? Not likely.

Natasha’s eyes flashed once more and with a quick sweep of her delicate yet crafty hands the folder disappeared only to be replaced by a new one. And really – Sam silently mused as she sat and gestured to the two to join her on the cramped couch – how many folders did she have stuffed down her skinny jeans?

The three were uneasily squished together, Natasha cozily in the middle, on the uncomfortable furniture as Natasha opened the manila folder and produced a grainy photo of an older man. He had a weathered face with hard lines cutting across his skin, suggesting that he had lived a long and hard life. There was an aristocratic air to his features, from the scope of his nose and the tilt of his sneering lips. His hair (including full beard and mustache) was stark white, yet his appearance showed him to still be a strong man carved out of iron, not weighed down with the fragility of mortality.

“This is Anatoly Volkov,” Natasha announced sharply, lips downturned as she stared down at the photo. “He’s the Artistic Director of the Mariinsky Theatre, here in St. Petersburg.”

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess that’s not really his name and he doesn’t just like ballet,” Sam surmised astutely. Natasha’s gaze was warm as she glanced towards him, subtly impressed in her own way. Quick as lightning, her eyes darted towards Steve as she teased,

“And I thought you only kept him around because he was pretty.”

Steve huffed out a breathy laugh, ignoring Sam’s squawk of belligerence from the other side of Natasha. 

“Well, it’s not the _only_ reason,” Steve bantered back without breaking a sweat. Moments like this with Natasha were easy. It was all the other times that left him unsettled. First and foremost she was a spy and Steve had spent enough time with spies. But he kept such thoughts to himself as the three settled back to the task at hand.

“His real name is Niko Constantin,” Natasha supplied stoically.

Steve reached for the photograph laying out on the coffee table, angling it his way to get a better look at the target.

“What do you want with him?” he asked of the redhead.

Natasha’s resolve was steely as she answered. “I want to retrieve some information. Information that wasn’t released in our little Hydra dump a few months back.”

That statement piqued Steve’s interest. He picked up the photo, gaze analytical as his eyes traced over the man’s sharp features.

“This man’s Hydra?” he questioned quietly, eyes trained on Natasha.

“No,” she admitted, expression deliberately neutral. “But he’s not good.”

Steve waited for more but Natasha remained stubbornly silent, her face giving nothing away as the two Avengers engaged in a stare off for the ages. Sam shook his head as he slouched down, waiting for the two to work through their issues.

“Nat-"

“The information I’m looking for is kept secured in a safe in his office at the Mariinsky,” Natasha continued, bulldozing over Steve’s objection.

“I need _both_ of you.” She nodded to Sam. “To help me secure the documents. Luckily, the theatre is holding a charity event tomorrow night. That will give us ample opportunity.”

She rifled through her intel, pulling out both a pamphlet for the charity gala as well as several blueprints of the theatre’s layout.

Steve remained unconvinced.

“Why are we doing this, Nat?”

Her hand froze for a moment over the papers scattered across the tabletop. It hovered for a moment before she pulled it back, dropping it into her lap. Her shoulders straightened with determination as she tilted her head towards the blond.

“He may not be Hydra, Steve, but he’s just as bad. Worse, even.” The conviction in her tone had Steve’s attention, it wasn’t often he heard her so firm on a subject when she thrived on never having a resolute opinion.

“And he’s gotten away with it for too long. We do this, we gain the information I need and blast it on the internet, we expose him for the rat that he is. I promise you, lives will be better for it.”

She looked at him then, gaze imploring. And just for a brief moment in time, he saw vulnerability in her green eyes. But then it was gone and Natasha was as impassive and cool as ever.

But the image remained with Steve, cataloged in the back of his head for a rainy day.

He looked at Sam over Natasha’s head. “What do you think?”

Sam shrugged, but there was a fixed expression across his face. He had already made his mind up. “It beats spending our days at museums.”

Natasha grinned victoriously, knowing that if Sam was a lock Steve was sure to follow.

“Undercover it is then. Luckily for you two, I already have identities and disguises worked out.”

Steve rolled his eyes, irked at the idea of once again going anywhere undercover. Unfortunately for him, Natasha caught the displeased grimace on the super-soldier’s face.

“Come on, Steve, it will be fun.” She nudged his shoulder amicably. “Just like that time in the Turk and Caicos.”

Oh, God. Steve groaned loudly, head dropping into his hand as he massaged his forehead, trying to erase the memories that came slamming into him hard and fast.

Sam look at the pair curiously from his spot on the couch. “What happened in Turk and Caicos?”

Steve haltingly began to explain. “We were undercover-"

“As newlyweds,” Natasha cheekily interjected, grin in place.

She gestured to herself and Steve as she carried on with the punchline. “You’re looking at the deliriously happy Mr. & Mrs. Carmichael. We were going at it like bunnies on our honeymoon.”

 _“Pretending!”_ Steve howled, eyes trying to make Sam understand. He really didn’t need the added taunting. “It was all pretending.”

A devilish smirk appeared on Natasha’s face as she fired back, “Then how did the bed break?”

 _“Say what now?!?”_ Was Sam’s elegant reply.

This time, Steve’s groaning was much longer as he glared at Natasha through the cracks of his fingers.

“I hate you.”

Natasha’s smug look didn’t falter even as she reached out and patted his broad shoulder in sympathy.

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

The joking atmosphere disappeared from the room as she spread out the blueprints, all business once again. It was scary how quickly she could shift personalities. Almost like she had been playing him the entire time until he agreed.

Thoughts like that made Steve very uncomfortable.

But he pushed such ideas away as he focused on her directions as she began pointing out the pillars of her plan.

 

* * *

 

 

**_October 26 th, 2014_ **

**_St. Petersburg_ **

****

The day was bright and sunny, yet the air was biting with a lingering chill. A clear sign that soon autumn would fade into a seemingly eternal Russian winter. Steve was bolstered from the impending cold with his serum, keeping him toasty in a light navy jacket and cream sweater bundled beneath. Natasha was wrapped up in a leather jacket with a knit design, belt buckled tightly across her trim waist.

The two Avengers were sitting informally at a table, idly sipping coffee in Theatre Square. It was an optimal spot for reconnaissance work, seeing as the Mariinsky Theatre was just across the street. The pale green neoclassical building was grand in both design and scope. Steve’s fingers were itching to sketch the splendid curves and arching lines of the majestic theatre.

But he was here to work.

Next to Natasha’s coffee cup was a slender book of poetry, it was nothing special that would catch anyone’s eye. However, cleverly hidden in the spine of the book was a microscopic camera, clicking away idly as it snapped pictures of the comings and goings of the ballet theatre and those who occupied it. This would all be helpful for their break in tonight. Every few minutes, Natasha would reach out, repositioning the book to obtain new angles. All the while she chatted jauntily with Steve.

A momentarily lull developed. That should have been enough to put Steve on high alert.

Natasha’s gaze was discerning as she innocently inquired, “How’s the dating life going, Rogers? Call that nurse yet?”

Would it be inappropriate to bash his head into the nearest wall? Alas, all Steve could do was keep his face remarkably disinterested as he set his cup down, it clinking firmly on the tabletop.

“She’s not a nurse,” was his evenhanded response. Of course, that wasn’t enough for Natasha. The woman had spent the last year vigilantly trying to set him up with anything and everything that had moved at SHIELD. Why would she stop now?

“And you’re not a SHIELD agent,” she volleyed back calmly, her wispy finger gently tracing the rim of her coffee cup as she glanced up at him. “So why not give it a shot?”

 Turnabout was always the correct answer and he gave it his best shot as he looked off into the distance. He could hear the ripple of the Moyka River as it wound its way through central St. Petersburg. “I’m afraid I’m just too busy at the moment.”

 Silence, and then a shared chuckle between the two. Natasha’s lips were curled up as she returned to her coffee, sipping it daintily. Steve watched her, a half-smile still on his face.

“What was her name again?” he asked, having lost it somewhere along the way since he had started her earnest search for Bucky.

Natasha eyed him before speaking. “Jacqueline. She’s nice.”

Nice didn’t say much (particularly when Natasha was the one saying it). Odd how he had lived across the hall from her for two years and didn’t know anything about her. He imagined that was how she had always wanted it. After all, to her, he was only a job.

“I don’t know much about her, seeing as her entire persona as Kate was a lie. Sharon’s never talked about her, which is odd seeing as they were tag-teaming on monitoring me.”

“It’s not that surprising,” Natasha countered with a snort.

Steve arched an eyebrow high up into his hairline, waiting for the redhead to elaborate on her previous remark.

“Seriously, Rogers?” she goaded in disbelief, her gaze pitying as she shook her head, curls shaking with the quick movement. “SHIELD agents are – excuse me, _were_ – notoriously territorial when it comes to their missions. So it’s not surprising that the two kept their distance from one another. Both of them thought of you as theirs.”

Steve immediately chocked on his coffee, burning his tongue as he made an absolute mess of himself. Natasha giggled quietly to herself as she watched the super-soldier attempt to put himself back together, dabbing off coffee with numerous napkins.

When he was finally recovered, she decided to begin asking personal questions, making him uneasy for entirely different reasons. “Speaking of Sharon, how is our intrepid blonde?”

Steve dropped his gaze, fingers reaching out to wrap out his porcelain coffee cup as he chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully.

“Alright, I guess.” His shoulders dropped reluctantly as his baby blues peeked over at Natasha. “She misses you. She never says it, but I think the CIA is wearing her down. Her relationship with her SO is pretty rocky.”

Natasha’s expression changed minutely as she mulled over everything Steve said (and the things he didn’t say).

After a moment she snapped her head decisively. “When I have a chance I’ll call her. Cheer her up with my own personal brand of humor.”

 Steve chuckled quietly to himself with a fond shake of his head. “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled at all your puns.”

“She better be,” Natasha quipped with a twist of her lips. “I spend forever writing them down.”

As agreeable as it would have been to let the lighthearted moment linger between the two, Steve felt his smile fade away as the worry lines in his forehead grew more prominent. His face bore a contemplative countenance as he looked at someone he’d like to consider a friend.

If only he could read her motives…

“Why are we doing this, Nat?” he asked seriously, hoping for honestly from the notoriously dishonest spy.

Natasha blinked in surprised before her eyes shuttered pointedly. “I told you-"

“Yes, you did,” Steve interrupted, a sliver of frustration thrumming beneath his skin like an itch he couldn’t scratch away. He’d just keep scratching and scratching until he broke the skin, allowing blood to flow out. “But I want to know why you’re targeting Constantin specifically. What did he do to you?”

It had to be personal. It just had to be.

Natasha was so still she resembled a Grecian statue, so beautiful but yet so cold. Her green eyes were hard as she parried back, “Who says he did anything to me?”

Steve kept to his stance, unwilling to back down. “Then why do you care so much about exposing him?”

“Why can’t I just do it because it’s the right thing to do?” Her words were so smooth, like running your fingertips across the newly printed pages of a novel. But if you pressed down too hard, exerted too much pressure, you were in danger of cutting yourself.

“You can, but-"

“But what, Rogers?” Her patience was thin and her voice curt as she glared at him. “You don’t trust that I’m telling the truth?”

“I think you’re telling a _version_ of the truth,” he frustratingly conceded, feeling the heat in his blood, a warning that it could be boiling soon if both didn’t get cooler heads. “But you’re hiding something. It’s fine for you to keep your secrets, but if whatever you’re hiding jeopardizes the mission in any way, then that’s on you.”

His words were rigid yet honest. He’d been dealing with liars for years now: SHIELD, Fury, Maria, hell, even Sharon. All the lies, no matter their speaker’s intentions, had hurt far worse than he ever let on. He was done with it and if Natasha thought she could get away with it when she put him in this position in the first place, well, then she had another thing coming.

Natasha was looking at him like she was searching for something amidst the shadows in his eyes, the curve of his jaw and the juncture of his cheekbones. Whatever she found was enough to have her sit ramrod straight in her chair.

“Do you trust me?” The words were like an arrow, piercing the vulnerable shell Steve had erected decades ago. Once upon a time, Bucky had been the only one to get past such lofty barriers. Then there had been Peggy, Howard, and the Commandos. Coming into this century, Steve had expected to once again be alone. But then the Avengers happened, Sharon had inserted herself into his life no matter how hard he tried to keep her at arm’s length, Sam stumbled in with his gentle smiles and understanding eyes and didn’t appear to be leaving anytime soon.

But for all that Natasha was a teammate and friend, she was still a question mark to Steve. Someone Steve could never predict. Not being able to read someone’s intentions? Well, that was a dangerous spot to be in.

“Natasha-"

“Do you?” she persistently demanded, looking genuinely upset at the notion that he was doubting her. Which had an element of fairness to it. They had taken down Hydra together. She had come at the 11th hour, fought beside him, was just as betrayed as he was by the revelation that SHIELD had been dirty.

But the question remained: did he trust her?

He couldn’t answer that, not right now.

He looked away from her, biting the inside of his cheek as he watched people walk by them, going about their day. Sometimes he wished he was like them, but the sheer stubbornness that had kept him alive in Brooklyn refused to ever let him stand down from a fight. He wasn’t a guy to stand on the sidelines.

He was a man of action.

“Let’s deal with the task at hand,” he got out because the mission was what was important. “After that, we can talk.”

Natasha’s nose flared before her face smoothed over, the conflicting emotions of before melting away until she was as distant from him as Bucky was.

“Sure.” The word was stickily sweet but she was anything but as she stood and marched away, disappearing into the throng like the expert she was. All Steve could do was follow in her wake, hands shoved in his pockets and head down.

 

+++

 

Whatever tension that their conversation created earlier in the day disappeared the moment the clandestine pair stepped into the glittering lobby of the famed Mariinsky Theatre that was serving as the space for the gala. Natasha’s arm was linked through his as she clutched onto his hand, a tinge of possessiveness in it as women eyed the line of Steve’s broad shoulders, accentuated all so nicely in his perfectly tailored tuxedo that Natasha had acquired for him.

Steve was not a fan of said tuxedo. It fit like a glove, but the starchiness of his white shirt prickled irritably against his skin and the bowtie was wrapped too tightly around his neck, feeling more like a noose than an accessory.

Natasha – for her part – was a vision (as if she could be anything but). She was attired in a black evening dress that clung to her petite form, showcasing every ample curve. Tantalizing inserts of what seemed like modern-day chain mail wound their way up her thigh and through the neckline of her dress. She was captivating as the golden lights of the vestibule bounced off of her.

They ignored the cursory glances thrown their way as a waiter stopped, politely offering them glasses of sparkling champagne from his tray. Steve offered a glass to Natasha with a sheepish grin covering his face.

Her eyes flashed and then softened as she accepted the alcoholic olive branch. She sipped it daintily as her eyes roved deliberately through the massive hall, searching out every entry and exit and the security guards milling through the sequined and diamond attired crowd.

Steve stood next to her, expression tactically bored (playing the part of a pushover boyfriend dragged to the ballet by his sweetheart). He eyed Natasha out of the corner of his eye, his gaze tracing over her largest cosmetic change of the evening.

Her trademark red hair was concealed with a platinum blonde wig. The long hair framed her face with romantic waves and moved so naturally with every tilt of her head that it was easy to believe that the hair was really hers.

He must have stared a moment too long because, within one blink and the next, Natasha’s green eyes were on him with a questioning gleam.

“Yes, dear?” she lowly asked, daring him to mock her when she could lay him out with only her thighs.

Steve hesitantly cleared his throat before biting the bullet and giving her the compliment. “Blonde’s a nice color on you.”

Her scarlet lips upturned into a flirty smirk. “Oh, Rogers, no need to pretend that I’m your favorite blonde. I know that spot’s already been _permanently_ filled.”

Steve – with a glass of champagne raised and angled towards his mouth – paused and then lowered the drink, face mulish as he did so. It didn’t take a genius to see where that joke came from. He wasn’t completely oblivious. Well, only some of the time.

“Well, you’ll always be my favorite redhead,” he murmured, partly out of jest, but also because it was true.

The way Natasha’s smile eased into something more genuine told him that she knew that as well. She placed her hand on his arm, letting it rest there idly as her gaze turned back to all the patrons mingling throughout the space.

“I’m holding you to it.”

Steve swallowed his drink down with champagne before discreetly reaching up to his left ear, activating the comm hidden there.

“Sam?” he asked quietly, lips barely moving. “You there?”

 _“Oh, I’m here,”_ Sam answered almost immediately. _“Nice of you two to remember little ol’ me.”_

“Cool it, birdbrain,” Natasha interjected calmly, though her eyes were captivated with the shimmering chandelier that was the focal space of the lobby. It hung above them like the sun, completely mesmerizing with its brightness.

“Are you in position?” Steve inquired, looking up as the crowd momentarily thinned, giving the two ample view to the other side of the room. Standing by himself in a tux identical to Steve’s was Sam. The three locked eyes for a moment before the crowd thronged, cutting them off from one another.

_“Yeah, I’m good to go. Falcon out.”_

Sam zigzagged expertly through the room, keeping to the outskirts of the milling crowds of the rich and sophisticated. He followed the map in his head as it led him to a hallway frequented by the waiters and catering staff. It was off the main lobby, the dim of orchestra music and small talk sounding far away. And better yet, it was empty.

Sam kept pressed close to the walls, staying off the security camera’s radars as he found the janitor closet right where Natasha said it would be. He slipped into it, leaving the door open a crack as he waited for the opportune moment.

It came swiftly.

An unsuspecting waiter coming back with an empty tray after doing the rounds in the glittering vestibule. Sam stood in the shadows, waiting as the man walked by, head in the clouds.

Sam pounced.

He surprised the sap from behind, getting an arm around his neck and pulling him back into the supply closet. The door slammed shut behind the two. The man gurgled and struggled against Sam’s chokehold. Sam kept him quiet, tightening and tightening the makeshift noose around his neck until he finally blacked out. His lanky body went limp with unconsciousness, tray clattering to the floor.

Sam slowly and steadily lowered the body to the floor, pulling out two zip ties from the inner pocket of his suit jacket and efficiently tying the man up. He searched the man’s pockets and grinned triumphantly when he pulled out the ID keycard that would get him into the more secure areas of the theatre. When he was satisfied, he stood and quickly shrugged out of the tuxedo jacket, tossing it aside. That left him looking just like the knocked out waiter, with matching white dress shirts and black bowties. Sam pulled out a pair of glasses out of his trouser pocket and put them on.

He didn’t need them. He just looked mighty fine in glasses.

He scooped up the discarded tray, brushing away any wrinkles and straightening his bowtie. He opened the door a sliver, eyes darting up and down the empty hallway. He slipped out and continued strolling, whistling a tune.

When he came upon the door for caterers, he pressed his keycard up against it and watched as the light flashed from red to green. The door unlocked and Sam was quick to get through it.

Now he was in the belly of the beast.

He followed Natasha’s directions and soon enough came to the room where all the security cameras were located. From a vantage point in there, he’d see everything throughout the building. Including the fourth floor where Constantin’s office was located.

Now all he had to do was incapacitate the three guards within the room.

Lucky him.

Sam was shaking his head as his hand reached out to grasp the doorknob.

“I need new friends,” he muttered to himself before pushing the door open. He stumbled in, going for clumsy and harmless as three pairs of apprehensive eyes landed on him.

They were armed. Of course, they were.

 _“_ _Кто ты?_ _” o_ ne demanded to know. Sam blinked wildly, still going for goofy American making an ass out of himself.

“Yo, is this the men’s bathroom?”

The three guards shared uneasy looks and Sam watched with trepidation as one began reaching for the pistol at his hip.

Clearly, his approach hadn’t worked.

Time for Plan B.

He raised his tray and like a slightly less cool version than Steve’s shield, clubbed the nearest man’s head with it. The guard groaned in surprise and pain before dropping to the floor, completely undone with the force of Sam’s blow.

Yells broke out and fists went flying as Sam threw himself at the closet guard. They tussled, but Sam uppercut him and he went down like a tree.

Just as he turned his head to find the last standing security guards, thick arms wrapped around him from behind, constricting any possible movements. He groaned as the guard squeezed hard on his ribs.

Cursing loudly, Sam sent them careening back into the nearest wall. He slammed back, feeling the man glomped onto him hit the wall hard.

He did it again and again and still, the man refused to loosen his hold.

“Stubborn son of a bitch!” Sam grunted as he went for a new tactic. Twisting and turning he was miraculously able to free his right arm. He brought it backward fiercely, cracking his elbow against the man’s chin. The guard’s head snapped back as his arms dropped from Sam.

Sam pivoted and tackled the man roughly to the ground. He had him pinned and with a few punches of his own, had the man unconsciousness.

Sam was a panting, sweating mess by the time he finally stood. The bodies of the guards were scattered throughout the room and a tornado look like it had ripped through the confined space. He threw aside his crooked and broken glasses and begrudgingly gathered the three men, lugging them to the corner where he zip-tied them, taping their mouths shut for extra measure.

He agitatedly undid his bowtie and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, trying to breathe. He dropped down heavily into the unoccupied chair nearest to the computer consoles. He swiveled as his eyes quickly raked over all the various camera screens.

Time to get to work.

 

+++

 

The pleasant chitchat and tinkering laughter that had filled the magnificent lobby died away as the music of the orchestra lowered to almost nothing. Heads turned and attention was grabbed as a regal looking gentleman stepped forward.

It was Niko Constantin.

Natasha imperceptibly stiffened as she stood beside Steve, her eyes trained on Constantin with deadly accuracy. Steve couldn’t help but glance from her to their target.

“That’s our man,” he murmured placidly.

“Yes,” Natasha didn’t even blink as she continued staring at him, something foreign in her weighty gaze. “He is.”

 _“друзья,”_ Constantin greeted in a thick, Russian accent. He held his arms wide, a twinkle in his dark eyes as he surveyed the scene.

“Many warm wishes upon all of you. I hope you have been enjoying your evening and that the drinks have been flowing freely, hopefully as freely as your pocketbooks.”

Laughter rose up through the grand space, echoing all around before fading away like sand slipping through one’s fingertips. Steve risked a look at Natasha. She still hadn’t moved, hell, it looked like she wasn’t even breathing as she watched Constantin.

Unease settled into Steve’s bones.

He had been right.

This was personal for Natasha.

“Thanks to your bountiful generosity we have raised more than ten million rubles for the Kirov Ballet.”

Giddy applause erupted and Steve was quick to clap along, nudging Natasha to follow his lead when she remained as still as a statue. She blinked, coming suddenly out of whatever daze she had been in. She clapped delicately, hands barely making any noise.

Constantin held up his hand and the room silenced in a single beat. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction, he was clearly a man used to giving orders and having them followed promptly.

“To celebrate such marvelous successes, I have a treat for you. A sampling of one of our most famous and beloved shows. Here to dance the _pas de deux_ from the second act of _Giselle_ , two of our magnificent principal dancers.”

Two whimsically attired dancers – one male and the other female – emerged from the shadows of the room, joining Constantin in the center of the large room. Guests and patrons pushed back, allowing the two ample space. Constantin bowed to his dancers and stepped away from the circle, giving them the stage.

Natasha seemed as pale as a ghost as she watched the partners take their positions. And if Steve wasn’t mistaken, she trembled in place when the soft strains of a single viola the titular Giselle began dancing alone, leg raising into an elegant _développé_. The ballerina swayed with glacial slowness, the sorrow of her character present in every dip and bend of her willowy body.

As fanciful woodwinds joined the viola, the male stepped forward, joining the woman he had forsaken in life as he supported her through melancholy lifts and turns.

It was beautiful.

Steve was captivated as he watched the dance continued, a hushed silence had settled over the hall as everyone kept their eyes on the pair moving together in perfect tandem.

Beside him, Natasha’s eyes were wide, suppressed feeling so valiantly trying to break through her carefully crafted façade.

Finally, the dance reached its conclusion as the music faded away. Rapturous applause followed as the magic of the last five minutes dissolved, leaving a lively atmosphere in its place as the party kicked up once again.

Whatever trance Natasha had been trapped in disappeared as she shook her head and was all business once again.

Steve, however, wasn’t ready to let it go.

“Your kind of place, huh?” he remarked lightly, keeping his eyes trained on the crowd before them.

Her look was quick and sharp as she eyed him.

“Excuse me?” she questioned, voice deceptively impassive.

Oh, Steve was definitely playing with fire. Might as well stick his whole hand into the flames.

“Sharon offhandedly mentioned once that you had season tickets to the Washington Ballet. I take it you’re a fan?”

Natasha was assessing him, figuring out every possible angle for such questions. She was looking for every available out, every way to avoid certain truths she had long ago buried. But something remained, and somehow a sliver of truth escaped.

“I used to dance ballet,” she admitted softly, eyes darting away from Steve’s look of surprise.

He was most definitely intrigued by such a tidbit. “Really?”

Whatever had possessed Natasha to be so discerningly honest had clamped up and her words were taut as she nodded.

“Yes, a very long time ago.”

And with that, their conversation was dead. Whatever opening had existed was now as dead as poor Giselle.

It was almost a godsend when their comms crackled to life and Sam came in from the other end.

_“I have breached the nest. Repeat: I have breached the nest.”_

“Oh, God,” Natasha muttered to herself as Steve swallowed his laughter.

“We good to go?” he asked Sam, ignoring the teasing look in Natasha’s gaze as she watched him.

_“Correct. The hallway leading to the service elevator is clear. Get your pale, white butts moving.”_

“You heard the man,” Natasha said as she swigged the last of her champagne, placing it on a pacing waiter’s tray. She curled her hand into his and tugged on his arm with an amorous smile.

“Let’s go, sweetie.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but let himself be dragged as Natasha guided them through the room. Soon enough they were slipping into the empty hallway, making their way to the elevator that would take them up to Constantin’s office.

Of course, something had to go sideways.

 _“Shit,”_ Sam swore in their ears.

“What is it?” Steve hissed quietly as he and Natasha paused in the hallway. Her hand was already reaching for the hidden firearm strapped to her thigh.

_“You’ve got two guards heading your way. They’ll be on you in seconds.”_

Shit, indeed.

Steve’s mind was moving a mile a minute, trying to come up with a way to dispatch the two goons without blowing their cover and alerting anyone to their scheme.

Unfortunately for him, Natasha was also thinking.

And she had a plan.

Her hands wrapped themselves into the lapels of his jacket before she yanked, hard. She had them stumbling into a wall, Steve’s large body bracketing her in as she quickly placed his palms on her waist. Her own arms looped around his neck as he stared down at her in disbelief.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded tacitly. There was hardly an inch of space between them and he could feel the swell of her breasts pushing into the firm planes of his chest.

She was enjoying this. He could tell from the mischievous gleam in her damned eyes. And then she said the one sentence he had never wanted to hear again.

“Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable.”

He instantly remembered the last time someone had said such words to him. It had been a situation eerily similar to the one he now found himself in.

Intuition told him that Natasha would not be as gentle with him as Sharon had been.

“Oh no.”

Her smirk was pure evil as she nodded. “Oh yes. Pucker up, lover-boy.”

Her fingers tangled into the hair at the nape of his neck before she jerked his head down. Meeting him halfway their lips collided in a heated kiss as Natasha clung to him like some kind of damsel in serious distress. Her foot swept his to the side, causing him to fall into her, pressing her into the wall as his knee snuggly nudged her legs apart. They were locked together like secret lovers. Which, for the moment, they needed to be.

Over the roar of blood in his ears, Steve could distantly hear the tread of two pairs of footsteps as they turned the corner and came upon the kissing couple. Steve slammed his eyes shut, giving the kiss his all as his hands clenched her waist, squeezing her supple skin.

 _“Что же мы имеем здесь?”_ one guard grunted to the other, amusement clear in his tone as the two shared a leering chuckle. Natasha pulled back from the kiss, lips shiny with spit as she winked quickly at the super-soldier before calling over his shoulder.

 _“Можем ли мы помочь вам, господа?”_ she inquired in throaty Russian, hands roaming suggestively up and down Steve’s chest. Her head was leaning against the wall, cheeks flushed as she pretended to breathe heavily, looking every inch happily ravished. For his part, he kept his head buried in her shoulder, letting her take control of the situation.

Also, his Russian was terrible.

The two guards shared looks and the longer the silence was drawn out, the more Steve’s hands clenched into fists. He was as tightly wound as a springboard, ready to jump to action if their lovers’ act didn’t convince them.

 _“_ _Давай_ _,”_ one guard muttered to his comrade. _“Оставь любителей.”_  

The other nodded before bowing his head mockingly to the pair. _“_ _Продолжать_ _.”_  

They continued on their way and moments later disappeared from sight, the heavy sounds of their footsteps fading away. Steve sprung back from Natasha, eyes darting away as he tried to regain control of himself.

That had been…something else. Very different than Sharon’s version of PDA.

Very different.

“Let’s go,” he gruffly asserted, head nodding towards where the service elevator was located. Natasha – looking completely unruffled – only nodded and sashayed forward.

 _“Good form,”_ Sam teased as Steve nearly tripped over thin air. He had forgotten Sam had been watching and had seen _everything._

“Zip it,” he shrilled into the comm. The elevator doors opened without fuss as the two former SHIELD agents slipped inside. Natasha hit the button for Constantin’s floor.

The two stood in silence as the machine began to ascend. Their only companion was the faint music playing throughout the car.

Sadly, it didn’t help the awkwardness.

Steve couldn’t look at Natasha, though Natasha had no trouble looking at him, a considering expression on her face.

Steve prayed for a miracle.

“Alright,” she broke the silence as Steve tensed in anticipation, his eyes slipping shut as he awaited her demise. “I have a question for you, oh, which you do not have to answer. I feel like if you don't answer it though, you're kind of answering it, you know?”

“What?” he snapped, nerves wound tight through his stomach. What had happened in his life to lead him to this place? Ah, yes, Project Rebirth.

“Was that your first kiss since 1945?” she asked curiously, no malice in her voice.

Steve chuckled sarcastically, a wry grin settling on his face. “That bad, huh?”

“I didn't say that,” she quickly refuted, shaking her head.

“Well, it kind of sounds like that's what you're saying,” he grumpily countered, crossing his arms as he watched the floors change number by number. They were only going to the third floor. How long were they going to be in this damned elevator?

“No, I didn't. I just wondered how much practice you've had.”

“You don't need practice.” Steve was insulted by the mere notion.

“Everybody needs practice,” Natasha diplomatically volunteered. She looked like she was enjoying this conversation far too much. From the way Sam was wheezing in his ear, so was he from his vantage point. 

“It was not my first kiss since 1945,” he firmly told her. “I'm 96, I'm not dead.”

“Nobody special, though?” And man, weren’t those words loaded. Steve stubbornly stared forward, right shoulder lifting in a half-shrug.

“Believe it or not,” he mumbled. “It's kind of hard to find someone with shared life experience.”

He was the only – well, now with Bucky somewhere in the wind, he guessed he couldn’t hold claim to the title of _only_ – super-soldier in existence. All his friends from the War: Howard, the Commandos, were all dead. Bucky was like a ghost, hiding from him. Peggy was old and frail, he didn’t know how many more years he’d have with her before she left him too.

He was a dying breed. All alone in this century. The thought troubled him far more than he’d ever be willing to let on.

“Well, that's alright,” Natasha chimed in lightheartedly. “You just make something up.”

His eyes narrowed as he glanced at her, a troubling expression etching itself into the lines of his skin.

 _You just make something up._ That was Natasha’s entire life, wasn’t it? Always making something up, changing colors like a chameleon to suit her current environment. Hell, in this weekend alone he felt like he had encountered at least five different Natasha’s. And that didn’t include Avenger Natasha or SHIELD Natasha or the Natasha who sat on his couch and watched _Star Trek_ with him, grinning every time Chekov appeared on the screen.

They could save the world together, take down Hydra, but Steve felt like he could go the rest of his life and never really know who Natasha was. He’d only ever know the minute fragments she’d let him see. Fragments that most likely were just lies for his own benefit.

“What, like you?” He couldn’t hide the reproach in his voice as he frowned. Natasha, for her part, seemed entirely unconcerned with his ire as she shrugged casually, fiddling with the strands of her wig.

“I don't know,” she murmured deliberately. “The truth is a matter of circumstances, it's not all things to all people all the time. And neither am I.”

He thought over her words before speaking lowly. “That's a tough way to live.”

Natasha tilted her head, watching him for a long moment. “It's a good way not to die, though.”

Steve snorted, shaking his head. “You know, it's kind of hard to trust someone when you don't know who that someone really is.”

“Yeah,” Natasha agreed before regarding him fully. “Who do you want me to be?”

Who did he want her to be? What was she to him? A teammate, a partner, an ally. Yes, she was all those things. But there was still a clawing distance.

He had spent enough of his life of keeping people at arm’s length. Sharon and Sam had shown him how valuable friendship could be, how such people could so easily turn into family.

He didn’t trust Natasha entirely, but maybe, he could take a chance on her.

“How about a friend?” he asked in a promising tone.

If Natasha was stunned by his request she hid it well. She blinked once before staring ahead, voice aloof as she flippantly remarked, “Well, there's a chance you might be in the wrong business, Rogers.”

The elevator halted and a moment the doors slid opened, revealing a long and lavish hallway. Natasha took the lead as she stalked forward expertly in her heels, Steve keeping a step behind her the entire way.

She paused at the oak doors that led into Constantin’s office. Procuring a bobby pin from her blonde curls, she knelt smoothly and with some tinkering had the unlocked in under a minute. It swung open as the two stepped into the spacious office. The lingering scents of spicy tobacco and rich brandy hung heavily in the air, tickling Steve’s nose as he followed Natasha to the far wall.

Taking up the majority of wall space was a reproduction of Viktor Vasnetsov’s _Alyonushka._ The peasant girl stared down at the duo with a faraway look as her head laid cushioned on her knee.

“Behind a painting?” Steve griped as he carefully detached the painting from the wall and, sure enough, a safe had been hidden behind it. “Not very original.”

Natasha snorted lightly as she stepped up to the contraption and began working her magic, spinning the dial this way and that. Steve’s face was scrunched up contemplatively as he watched her work.

“Why are you making that face?” she inquired as she worked, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, but of course Natasha was the type to multitask.

Knowing he had been found out, he begrudgingly conceded. “Nothing, it’s just…”

“Just what?”

“Was tongue really necessary?” He felt the blush on his cheeks even as the words came unridden out of his mouth. Objectively, Natasha was a hell of a kisser, but the swipe of her tongue into his mouth had definitely been a surprise.

Her giggling was melodious as encased them in the office. She shook her head fondly as she continued working on the safe. “No, but it was fun.”

She sent him a quick wink before turning her attention back to the task at hand. Steve grinned sheepishly down at his shoes, hand reaching up to rub at the back of his neck.

Seconds later the combination was cracked.

The door clicked open to reveal an assortment of documents, pictures, various forms of global currencies and a couple of passports with new aliases within them.

“Pretty lax security measures,” Steve murmured as Natasha methodically pulled out folder after folder, quickly flipping through them to determine what she needed. From his spot, he could see the curl of Cyrillic.

“He’s grown complacent. Lazy,” she accused tightly, tensioned growing in her shoulders. “He doesn’t think anyone’s ballsy enough to ever show him for the monster he is.”

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed together as he watched her closely.

“And we are?”

Her head snapped up as she looked at Steve. “We took down Hydra, Steve. We can do whatever we want.”

“And what if I didn’t want to do this?” he countered lowly, a fissure of frustration finally slipping through. He still had no idea what he was doing her or why Natasha even wanted his help in the first place.

“Then why are you here?” Her words were as icy as a Russian winter.

_Because I care about you. Because I want to trust you. Because I wish you’d let me in, even just a little bit._

Whatever he wanted to say was cut off as the sound of footsteps were heard outside the office’s doors. The pair froze before springing into action. Natasha hid the folder within the confines of her dress, hand reaching for the gun at her thigh as Steve raised his fists for a fight.

The door busted open, a gang of gunmen charging in. At their center was Niko Constantin.

He easily swept into the room, eyes dark and shrewd as he took in the sight of the two Avengers standing in the middle of his office.

He only uninterestedly eyed Steve for a moment, but Natasha was his true prize as his gaze locked onto hers.

He looked at her for a long moment, a gambit of emotions flashing through his eyes before he blinked once and all that was left was a mocking coldness.

“Natalia,” he greeted, his smile growing as he saw how rigid she went at the informal address. “You have returned to me, my little spider.”

His eyes darted towards Steve. “And you brought company, I see.”

To Steve’s complete and utter surprise Natasha remained standing in place, staring at Constantin like she was in some kind of trance. And was she… _trembling?_

Something was very wrong.

Constantin saw it too.

 _“Убей их,”_ he offhandedly ordered, turning his head away. A gun was raised, aimed straight at Natasha’s head.

She didn’t move an inch.

The trigger clicked.

“Natasha!” Steve yelled. Using his speed to his advantage, he grabbed hold of her arm, jerking her back in the nick of time. He propelled them forward, rolling them over the sturdy desk and landing them behind it just as a hail fire of bullets rained down upon them. They embedded themselves into the wall behind them, tearing the painting of the peasant girl to shreds. The pop of bullets echoed precariously in Steve’s ears, like a sledgehammer to his head.

“Are you okay?” he urgently asked Natasha, who was crouched down next to him. Whatever reverie Constantin had inspired, it was gone now. Her eyes were alert and he could see the rage welling within her green eyes.

She nodded tightly, hand pulling out her pistol and undoing the safety. They looked at each other expectantly.

“You ready?” he asked over the sound of gunfire.

“Let’s do it,” she answered tenaciously.

And with that, it was time to fight back.

Using his strength, Steve hefted the desk up and threw it with all his might. It went flying, taking out at least four gunmen in one single blow. Natasha vaulted over the fallen desk and used it to her advantage as she swung up, legs wrapped around one unfortunate man’s neck. She twisted, using her weight to send him buckling down to his knees.

As he fell she flipped off of him, landing on the next man before using him like a jungle gym. Steve’s approach was much less showy but just as effective as he barreled his way through the goons, bucking them this way and that like a bull in a china shop.

Soon enough, they were the last two standing. Somehow, during the fight, Natasha’s wig had become dislodged and now her bright red locks were on full display as she shook them out.

They hurried into the hallway just in time to see Constantin entering the elevator. He turned to the duo, eyes locked with Natasha’s. He held her gaze, a smirk curling across his face as the doors slid shut.

Natasha stepped forward to follow but was halted as Steve wrapped his hand around her arm, keeping her in place.

“Natasha, we don’t have time. We need to get out of here.”

She was reluctant and had half a mind to shrug him off and go after Constantin anyway. However, her resolve dissolved as she nodded and pivoted away from the elevator.

“We’ll take the stairs down,” she primly told him. They raced down the corridor, making it to the stairwell. They throw open the door and entered.

They were met with a grim sight.

A horde of Constantin’s men was running up the stairs, guns at the ready. Steve and Natasha stared down at them from their vantage point.

“Never mind,” she intoned with a blasé shrug of her shoulders.

Steve hung his head, eyes roving about for Plan B. It came to him quickly. “The roof! C’mon.”

They sprinted up the steps, Natasha’s stilettos slapping against the concrete. Once they made it to the rooftop door, Steve kicked it open as it ripped off its hinges with a squeaky groan. A sharp wind smacked into them as they dashed out into the night.

They sped along the shingles, shoes slipping and sliding with how quickly they scampered. Natasha kept pace easily enough, never faltering even in her thin heels.

They only paused when they came to the edge of the roof. The street was three stories below with cars zooming this way and that.

They needed a way to get down.

Steve’s ears perked up as he heard the heavy tread of feet running their way. He glanced down and made a decision.

“Get on my back,” he ordered Natasha. She blinked in confusion but complied without question, jumping up and clinging to him like a spider monkey.

“Hold on,” he instructed before jumping off the roof. The wind whipped past them as they fell for a story before Steve found something to grab onto. They jerked to a stop, feet dangling to the street below as they swayed back and forth.

Natasha’s arms were draped securely around his neck, her legs locked around his waist. She couldn’t help but look down as Steve had them hanging there. Steve was also looking for their next drop off.

He swung them to the left before letting go, putting them into freefall once again. They carried on that way and were quickly landing on the pavement, surprising unsuspecting locals milling about. Natasha slipped off Steve’s back as the two hurriedly walked, ignoring the distant yelling coming from the rooftop.

Luckily for them, Sam was there to pick them up.

A black sedan pulled up to alongside them, Sam in that driver’s seat.

“Get in!” he impatiently yelled. Steve and Natasha didn’t need to be told that twice. They slid into the vehicle as Sam slammed on the gas and they took off, zipping into the winding streets of St. Petersburg.

Folder intact.

 

+++

 

_Rip!_

It was almost with vengeful glee that Natasha tore out of several blacked out pages from the contents of the folder they had extracted from Constantin. Her face was closed off as she stared down at the pages, eyes chasing far off specters.

Steve and Sam watched her from the corners of their hotel room. They were in varying stages of dishevelment. Their dress shirts messily untucked, crinkly sleeves rolled up, buttons popped open and bowties hastily undone.

Natasha was still and silent as she huddled before the open fire burning away in the musty fireplace. It cast golden shadows throughout the dim room, enclosing the three of them in its cozy heat that spread far throughout the small room.

The fire’s glow danced across Natasha’s face, her gaze blinking in and out of focus. Her gaze finally snapped up from the pages. Suddenly and without provocation, she had the papers balled up and threw them into the fire.

The inferno crackled and popped with its newest addition. Soon enough the pages withered and blackened into ash as they burned. Natasha tossed aside the rest of the folder, her back to the two men.

“Well,” she raptly called out after a moment. “That was oddly satisfying.”

Sam snorted and pushed himself off the wall, rolling his neck and shoulders as he stood straight.

“We followed our end of the bargain, where’s yours?”

Steve perked up as his eyes cut towards the shadowy form of Natasha. A single eyebrow arched challengingly before she swept herself to her feet in one graceful movement. Her bare feet padded silently towards her suitcase and a moment later she was holding up the promised prize. She carelessly threw it Steve’s way and he greedily snatched it out of the air. She seated herself once again at the fireplace.

He quickly opened it, eyes roving rapidly across the documents and intel. His eyes widened in disbelief at what he learned.

“Rosario?” he questioned, gaze darting skeptically towards the redhead. _“Argentina?”_

“Yes,” she sedately answered, head tilting subjectively. “I was surprised as well.”

“Wait,” Sam testily frowned. “You’re telling me the Winter Soldier is in South America? We’ve spent months looking for him everywhere in Europe!”

Natasha carelessly shrugged, lips pursed in thought. “He’s a ghost, it’s not surprising he’s been throwing out false leads.”

“And we can trust this?” Steve asked, holding up the folder in his lap.

“My sources have never been wrong before. I’m not saying you’ll find him, just that you have a better chance now.”

Steve’s gut felt tightly coiled as he stared down at the papers scattered across his lap.

Argentina.

Why would Bucky be in Argentina? Well, it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was finding him.

However, the decision wasn’t only up to Steve. His eyes sought out Sam’s.

“What do you think, Sam?”

Sam looked half ready to protest but after a moment of consternation, he shrugged.

“It’d be nice to go somewhere warm for a change,” he begrudgingly conceded. “Whatever you want, Steve. You’ve got me until Thanksgiving. Then my mama’s gonna drag my ass home for her famous yams.”

The corner of Steve’s lip momentarily quirked up. “Well, I’d have to disappoint Mrs. Wilson.”

So, that was that. They were going to Argentina.

Instead of feeling elated at the prospect of finally cornering Bucky, all he could feel whirling through his body was all the questions he had.

They all revolved around Natasha.

She must have felt it as well because she forcibly kept her back to Steve, not allowing him in any avenue in.

Sam groaned quietly to himself as he looked from one Avenger to the other. Honestly, it was like herding cats with these two. How on earth were they qualified to be Earth’s defenders?

“I saw a McDonald’s a few blocks away,” he mumbled as he began ambling towards the door. “I’ll get us McFlurries, if you two eat those sort of things.”

Steve flashed him a grateful look as he headed out. And then it was just him and Natasha. Steve gently placed the pages back into the folder, shutting it and setting it down on the couch. He stood, knees popping as he slowly walked up to Natasha. She didn’t acknowledge him, eyes set on the glowing flames.

He lowered himself to the floor, broad shoulders brushing up against her delicate ones as they sat next to each other in heavy silence.

Steve wanted to speak, to say _anything,_ but he didn’t know where to begin.

Luckily for him, Natasha broke the ice first.

“I owe you.”

Steve blinked in surprise, staring at the side of her head with glossy eyes. He looked away, clearing his throat. “It's okay.”

Suddenly Natasha was looking at him, something urgent in her gaze as she implored, “If it was the other way around, and it was down to me to save your life, and you be honest with me, would you trust me to do it?”

There was something pressing in her eyes as she stared unblinkingly at him, awaiting his answer with bated breath. This was important to her. Steve’s opinion of her _mattered._ Such knowledge was enough to suck the breath out of his chest.

“I would now,” he answered honest and true. His lips curled up as he gently knocked his shoulder into hers. “And I'm always honest.”

There was a swell of emotion in her face as she peered at him. Then it smoothed away but he could see the traces of happiness in the curves of her cheeks and the gleam of her green eyes.

This should be enough for Steve, having them on the same page for the very first time.

But still…

“Constantin,” he murmured, politely ignoring the way Natasha tensed beside him. “You knew him.”

The spy huffed quietly to herself as she kicked at a stray log, sending it into the blaze of the fire.

“Yes,” she replied. “A very long time ago.”

Her eyes slipped shut and Steve wonder what visions she was seeing behind the darkness of her eyelids. Whatever it was had her eyes snapping open with resolve as she tilted her head towards Steve.

“He was one of my instructors in the Red Room. He – among _many_ other things – made me who I am.”

“You’ve been looking for him,” Steve correctly guessed. Natasha’s shoulders deflated but she nodded all the same.

“It took some digging, but through the Hydra files we released I was able to ascertain his new alias. When the Red Room fell he was one of the few who slipped through the cracks. He just…disappeared, created a new name and a new life for himself.”

Natasha’s gaze hardened with tightly constricted fury as she stared at the fire. “He’s lived so many years in peace, thinking that no one would ever find him out for the terrible monster he is. And I guess…I just wanted him to feel a fraction of what I’ve endured.”

“For justice?” Steve cautiously asked, even though he already knew the answer deep in his bones.

“And if it wasn’t?” she sharply retorted, her lips frowning into a vicious scowl. “Maybe it was revenge. Does that change your opinion about me?”

She was provoking him into a fight. But Steve had fought too many times tonight. Now, he was just tired.

“No,” he murmured sincerely. He could tell he surprised Natasha, but he paid no mind to it as he kept talking. “I like to fool myself that going from Hydra base to Hydra base is just to look for Bucky – and part of it is – but part of it is because I want to make them pay for what they did to him.”

He knew she was cataloging his words, tucking it away, ready to assess it another time. But for now, all she did was smirk, a shadow of mockery visible in it.

“Not as virtuous as the history books make you out to be, eh?”

Steve chuckled in a brittle manner, the sound more pathetic and sad than anything else. In front of them, the fire continued burning. The pages Natasha had thrown in long ago reduced to nothing more than ash.

“No, that was Captain America. This right here,” he gestured to his bone-weary body. “This is all Steve Rogers. I’m nowhere near close to being perfect.”

Natasha hummed softly to herself. “Well, I always thought Captain America was vastly overrated.”

Steve mustered up a fatigued grin as his head dropped forward. His eyelids felt the weight of sleep and began dipping shut. Just as he was about ready to knock off into a well-deserved nap, Natasha was speaking again.

“Is the offer still open?”

He slowly raised his head, blinking to himself as he fought off a yawn. “What offer?”

“What?” Natasha inquired with a teasing grin. “Do I have to make a friendship bracelet in order to join your little club?”

A warmth blossomed through Steve’s chest as a genuine smile flashed across his face. “Nah, friendship bracelets are so last century. All I need is your trust and I’ll give you mine in return.”

“Even though I’m a spy?” she asked in an inscrutable voice.

Steve’s smile grew just an inch. “Just don’t bullshit me and we’ll be fine.”

Natasha relaxed next to him, holding his gaze as she nodded once. “I think I can do that.”

In front of them, the fire crackled.

 

* * *

 

 

**_October 27 th, 2014_ **

**_St. Petersburg_ **

****

There was a horde of people as Natasha, Steve and Sam milled outside Moskovsky Station. Clutched in Natasha’s grip was a train ticket. Steve and Sam were here to see her off, not knowing when they would see her again. She had a way of popping in and out of lives without much notice for her comings and goings.

“Well, boys,” she remarked with a smile. “This has been fun. Let’s do it again sometime.”

Sam chortled but gamely stepped forward with a roll of his eyes. “Why can’t we ever just go bowling?”

He bent down, wrapping his arms around Natasha’s petite frame as he hugged her close. She responded in kind, rubbing Sam’s back amicably.

“See you, red.”

Natasha pulled away from the embrace as she countered cheekily, “That’s Laura Matthers to you, stud.”

The two exchanged smiles as Sam stepped back, and then it was Steve’s turn as he swooped down and hugged her tightly. Her arms looped around his neck as she held him back just as firmly.

Steve released her and smiled down at her. “Don’t be a stranger. It’s not fun to see a friend only every couple of months.”

Natasha’s gaze was warm as she leaned up and pressed a slow kiss to his cheek. He could smell the floral notes of her perfume as it wafted into his nose.

“I’ll see you, Steve.”

And then she was disappearing into the mad throng of the crowd. She kept her eyes trained forward as she wandered through the station, finding her platform easily. She glanced at the nearest clock.

Ten minutes until her train was due to arrive.

She tugged her red leather jacket closer in an attempt to ward off the chill of the dying remnants of fall.

She pulled out her burner phone in a bored fashion. She scrolled through the contacts, eyes brightening in interest when she came upon a familiar name.

Well, she had promised Steve that she would reach out to Sharon. And she had just the trick. She clicked on Sharon’s contact and typed out a text that was sure to get her friend’s attention.

**To Sharon Carter:**

_You know, Rogers isn’t too shabby of a kisser._

It was just after 4pm in Russia, meaning it was only 9am in DC. Sharon was up and primed to receive her text.

Oh, this was going to be so good.

Natasha let the countdown commence.

“Five…four…three…two…”

Her cellphone rang shrilly with an incoming call. Natasha’s lips curled victoriously.

“One,” she whispered to herself, accepting the call with ease.

“Hello?” she innocently asked, eyes wide for effect even if the blonde couldn’t see her. She wasn’t left disappointed.

 _“You kissed Steve?!?”_ Sharon’s voice yelled through the phone. Natasha fought to keep the smirk from spreading across her face.

“I’m sorry, who is this?” she guilelessly inquired, playing along for kicks and giggles. Sometimes, it was just so easy to push people’s buttons.

 _“Cut the bull, Nat,”_ Sharon growled. That girl needed coffee. _“Why the hell did you kiss Steve?”_

Yep, just the reaction she had been hoping for.

“Oh, Sharon,” Natasha greeted. “Hello. I’m sorry, you’re breaking up.” She held the phone away from her, making her voice muffled. “I don’t think I have a good connection.”

_“Natasha-"_

Natasha’s train was pulling into the station. Perfect timing.

“I’m going to have to run,” she called into the phone.

_“Natasha!”_

“Bye.” She snapped the phone shut, chuckling to herself as the train pulled up. She knew without a doubt that Sharon was going to spend all day worrying over what exactly would have had to transpire for Natasha and Steve to swap spit.

She’d probably drive herself crazy.

Well, as far as Natasha was concerned, she was only being a good friend. It wasn’t her fault that the two blondes in her life were too thickheaded to notice the current state of things.

Really, one day, Sharon would thank her for this. Besides that, it was also immensely entertaining.

With that thought in mind, Natasha entered the train, ready to leave St. Petersburg and all its memories behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the big thing I wanted to do here was to establish the nature of Steve and Natasha's relationship. One of my favorite things about CATWS is the evolution of their friendship. However, since I gave Sharon the larger role, we didn't get the bonding between Steve and Natasha. Hence this chapter. I hope it conveys the same evolution for their friendship and watching them grow and trust one another, as well as establishing their firm bonds for AOU, CACW and IW. Hopefully, I succeeded in tying them closer together with this little side story. 
> 
> Niko Constantin is a member of the Red Room featured in the comics, though I have tweaked him for my story. I also don't know a ton about the Red Room, so am really just going off the hints we saw in AOU and my own personal imagination. Bucky 'being' in South America is a call back to the previous chapter and he is using the misdirects that Sharon advised. He's not really in SA. Too bad for Steve and Sam. Where is he? Romania? IDK. He's off doing...whatever it is Bucky does when in hiding. Also in this chapter was a fun callback to the first story. Natasha mentioning her and Steve's undercover mission in the Turk in Caicos is the same undercover mission that is shown when Sharon is at Catherine's graduation. 
> 
> I tried doing hover-text for the Russian words and phrases, but it was too technical and I wanted roll out this chapter. So, you'll just have to look at the translations here. Sorry about that. 
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the reviews for last chapter. You guys really give me the best motivation imaginable. I'm sorry I'm such a turd when it comes to updating. I'll try and be better. I hope I can hear your guys' feedback for this little gem. I'd really love to know if I sold Steve and Natasha's friendship in a way that's congruent to the movies. 
> 
> Translations:  
> Еще раз - Again  
> Да, учитель - Yes, teacher  
> Кто ты? - Who are you?  
> друзья - Friends  
> Что же мы имеем здесь? - What do we have here?  
> Можем ли мы помочь вам, господа? - Can we help you, gentlemen?  
> Давай - Come on  
> Оставь любителей - Leave the lovers  
> Продолжать - Carry on  
> Убей их - Kill them 
> 
> Pic time! 
> 
> The trio seeing each other for the first time:
> 
> Steve:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/28936951597/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Sam:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/30003510338/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Natasha:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/28936951717/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Steve & Natasha scoping out the Mariinsky:
> 
> Steve:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/28936951687/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Natasha:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/28936951837/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Charity Gala:
> 
> Natasha:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/28936951447/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/28936951987/in/dateposted-public/)   
> 
> 
> Steve:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/30003510368/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Natasha at the train station:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/28936951907/in/dateposted-public/)


	25. He's Got Me down on Both Knees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greer’s eyes narrowed. “Stop being deliberately obtuse. Why so tense?”
> 
> “I am not tense,” Sharon growled, hands wrapped within the towel as she clenched her fists. Yep, no tenseness here. She was a beacon of calm serenity. So why did she want to punch something?
> 
> Greer continued to stare. “Is this a sex thing?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: some self pleasure in this chapter.

**_November 9 th, 2014_ **

**_Langley, VA_ **

****

_Smack!_

Sharon’s knees crashed hard into the mats beneath her. Her body pitched forward, hunching into herself as she breathed raggedly. Her ears were ringing like incessant bells and pain was blossoming across her jaw like circuitry that had been crossed, sending misfired signals zigzagging throughout her body. She sluggishly raised a tightly wrapped hand towards her mouth, wiping at her swollen lips. When she pulled the appendage away, she saw a few drops of blood, scarlet red against the stark white of the gauze.

“Tsk-tsk, Sharon.” Greer disappointedly shook her head from behind her cousin. Sharon raised her hanging head as she glared.

“That was just sloppy,” Greer accused, looking like she was having far too much fun at Sharon’s expense. She danced back on her toes, spreading out across the boxing ring that encased the two blondes deep in the bowels of the CIA.

The point of sparring had been to lose the edge Sharon had been carrying around for days. As of now, it was failing to do anything other than pissing her off.

“I’ll show you sloppy,” she muttered to herself as she slowly pushed herself to her feet. She rolled her neck, feeling the joints pop and crack resoundingly. With a huff, she was pulling on her ponytail until she could feel her hair being roughly yanked back from her head. She spread her feet, squared her shoulders and waited for the perfect opportunity.

Greer infuriatingly waited her out, refusing to make the first move. She just waited with raised fists and arched eyebrows. It was only due to the boiling of Sharon’s blood that she impulsively charged forward. Without batting an eye Greer gracefully sidestepped her and Sharon went flying into the ropes.

She bounced off them as easily as if she was in a pinball game. Letting out a war cry, she dove immediately for Greer. She kept her cousin on the defensive as they moved perfectly in sync. It was all striking fists flashing out, as they moved like dizzyingly twirling dervishes. And so it went on, back and forth with no end in sight.

Sharon was all pent up frustration with every punch and kick and it proved to be her downfall. With a failed lunge, Greer kicked her leg out and sent Sharon down to the mats. She let out a grunt as she landed hard. The world was spinning as she tried in vain to get her bearings.

Before she could move, Greer was behind her, legs hooking around Sharon’s waist and arm whipping across her throat, trapping her in a chokehold. Sharon struggled like a wild animal, gurgling madly as the air was slowly and painstakingly forced out of her throat. But still, she fought on, something deep and ugly within her unwilling to cede defeat.

“For God’s sake,” Greer complained as she dodged a haphazard elbow strike from the scrambling Sharon. It was like dealing with a dying bull. “Tap out!”

Sharon shook her head fiercely. She didn’t know why, but she needed this win. So she started playing dirty. It wouldn’t be the first time such a thing occurred with the staunchly competitive blondes. She jerked her right arm up, effectively breaking Greer’s ironclad rear choke. But just as she breathed in the deep scent of freedom, Greer was one again two steps ahead.

Greer’s hands came over Sharon’s shoulder, gripping onto her wrist and refusing to let go. In a flash, Greer had Sharon on her back with both legs tossed over Sharon’s torso, pressing down into her neck. She squeezed with her knees, raised her hips and yanked up Sharon’s captured arm.

Sharon couldn’t help but cry out as Greer twisted her arm, muscles crying out in agony at the abuse being dealt to them.

“Tap out,” Greer ordered and when Sharon refused, she twisted harder. Sharon’s chest was heaving and the pain was nonstop as it continued assaulting her.

Finally, she lifted her free hand and smacked it against Greer’s thigh, tapping out with a pathetic whimper. Immediately Greer released her and Sharon’s body turned liquid in relief. She laid on the boxing ring floor, chest rising and falling rapidly as she greedily sucked in oxygen. The pain dimmed to a tolerable ache.

She was glistening with sweat, her skin slick with it as her sports bra stuck uncomfortably to the swell of her heaving breasts. Stray hairs from her ponytail were glued to her forehead as she halfheartedly batted at the flyaway strands. Sharon was content to spend the rest of her life laying in a sorry sprawl of limbs, when Greer’s hand appeared above her, offering her a hand up.

Sharon sighed but took the limb and let her cousin pull her up to her feet. The second she was standing, she was stalking forward. She ducked through the ropes and jumped down to the ground below. Her feet took her to the bench as she immediately grabbed her water bottle, guzzling more than half of its contents in a single gulp.

Greer came up beside her, observing her cousin cautiously as if she was a pipe bomb just waiting to go off. Sharon only ignored her as she lowered her water bottle and slung a towel around her neck, dabbing at the dripping beads rolling down her skin.

“What?” she finally snapped after several long moments of silence. The sparring had done everything but calm the incessant energy surging through her. She was nearly thrumming in place as she stood there, uncomfortable with such still movements. She didn’t know what she wanted, but she didn’t want to just stand here and be judged by her cousin.

“You’re tense,” Greer announced with pursed lips as she settled her hands on her hips.

“Am not,” Sharon volleyed back without missing a beat, almost childish with her petulant tone. Soon she’d be sticking her tongue out.

Greer was quick to argue back. “Yes, you are. You have been for weeks. Izzy’s scared to go near you; thinks you’ll rip his head off and then feed it back to him.”

Sharon paused, water bottle halfway to her lips as she lowered it with a bemused twitch of her lips. “How would that even work?” It didn’t take a genius to see that she was deflecting.

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” Greer asked with a shrug of her slender shoulders. “So…”

“So, what?”

Greer’s eyes narrowed. “Stop being deliberately obtuse. Why so tense?”

“I am not tense,” Sharon growled, hands wrapped within the towel as she clenched her fists. Yep, no tenseness here. She was a beacon of calm serenity. So why did she want to punch something?

Greer continued to stare. “Is this a sex thing?” Her eyes widened when Sharon looked away, a heady flush spreading across her cheeks that had absolutely nothing to do with sparring.

“It is a sex thing!” Greer exclaimed, mirth dancing merrily in her eyes. Sharon raised her eyes to the ceiling, hoping that the ground would open up beneath her and swallow her whole. Anything to save her from this conversation. Greer, however, would not be deterred.

“When’s the last time you got laid?” she inquired in an interested tone.

“February,” Sharon barked out before she could fully think through the consequences of revealing such a thing. Such a rookie mistake. She was better than this, truly.

Greer made a face, lips turning down into a frown. “With who? Your Hydra loving ex-boyfriend?”

If glares could kill, Greer would be in the seventh circle of hell.

“If you have to know,” she forced out as she ran the towel over her face. “Yes, the last time I had sex was with Neal.”

Greer looked like she wanted to vomit. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”

Sharon couldn’t help but snort sardonically. “You’re telling me.” She hoped that would be the end of it, but of course, it wasn’t.

“Why not get it on with Captain Little Butt?” Greer suggested with leering eyebrows. Sharon was partially mesmerized as she stared before being snapped out of her daze when she realized what Greer had actually said. She nearly choked on her water.

 _“S-Steve?”_ she sputtered as water unattractively dribbled down her chin. “I’m not having sex with Steve!” She was vehement in her conviction of shutting down that idea before it could grow wings and take off.

“Why not?” Greer asked conversationally, clearing not seeing what was wrong with such an outlandish suggestion. “Just think of it of friends helping each other out. The man must be a tank in the sack.”

And now that mental image was never leaving her head. She contemplated the pros of a lobotomy.

“We’re not that kind of friends,” Sharon insisted with a fierce shake of her head. “And I am never doing a friends-with-benefits arrangement ever again. _Never.”_

The first time had been a complete mitigated disaster. No reason to ever repeat that train wreck. Sometimes she wanted to resurrect Neal just so she could put another bullet in his head.

“Oh, come on,” Greer insisted with a teasing grin. “What’s not to like about him? He’s wholesome as apple pie in a body made for sin. If I wasn’t in a happily committed relationship you best believe I’d be trying to climb him like the freakin’ sycamore that he is.”

Her eyes glazed over as she daydreamed, her pink tongue darting out to swipe absentmindedly across her bottom lip. Sharon shuddered in place as her breakfast burrito threatened to resurface.

“It’s not like that,” she put up a token resistance, though at this point she didn’t even know why she was even bothering against the indomitable force that was her cousin. Greer was like a dog with a juicy bone, she’d never give up until she licked the thing clean.

“Why?” Greer rebutted with a hard glint of her eyes. Her next words her as sharp and cutting as knives. “Because of Peggy?”

Sharon’s blood ran cold and a scowl ripped across her face, twisting her features until they were raging like she was some kind of wrathful deity. That was always the problem with Greer, she never knew when to stop. She’d twist the knife deeper and deeper, the satisfaction in the slow and excruciating kill.

 _“Because,”_ Sharon snarled. “It’s not like that. Greer, I love you, but drop it.”

If Greer didn’t watch herself they’d find themselves back in the ring. And this time Sharon wouldn’t let her frustration get the best of her. She would fight with the intention to maim, anything to wipe that satisfied grin off her cousin’s face.

Greer’s gaze cleared and the smugness ebbed away, but because the world hated her, she was unwilling to let such information go and kept poking and prodding experimentally. “But really, no sex since February?”

Sharon grunted as Greer shook her head in despair. “That’s just sad.”

A moment of silence, and then…

“Tell me you’re at least…” she let the sentence hang there. Sharon only quirked an eyebrow in response.

“At least what?”

Greer frowned as she waved her hand, “You know…”

Sharon really didn’t. And she didn’t know if she wanted to. Greer sighed but got on with it.

“Paddling the pink canoe.”

Sharon froze before groaning loudly. “Oh, God.”

She couldn’t believe it. This couldn’t really be her life. She really couldn’t have been subjected to this. She’d take torture any day over this.

“You have to be buttering your muffin.”

She refused to look at Greer as she pleaded, “Please stop.”

Greer’s gaze was almost maniacal with delight as she carried on. “You must be taking some time and… _womansplaining_ yourself.”

“How are we related?” Sharon asked herself. They may have looked like sisters, but there was no way they could actually be related. Loved ones didn’t do this to other loved ones.

Greer snapped her fingers happily, “Oh, and my personal favorite! Jillin’ off!”

Where was that hole when Sharon needed it? “I’m leaving now,” she announced to the empty gym, spinning on her heel and quickly walking away towards the locker room. Of course, Greer had to have the last word.

“We’ll find you someone, cuz! You’re streets ahead, Sharon, never forget it.”

Sharon paused mid-step, risking a glance over her shoulder as she said, “You’ve been watching _Community_ again, haven’t you?”

Greer only flashed a grin in response.

 

* * *

 

 

An hour later found Sharon freshly showered but mood no less sour as she followed a smirking Greer into a crowded conference room brimming with agents. It was loud and crowded as the two blondes fought their way to the table, dropping down into the only two remaining seats.

Izzy – hands fidgety from his third cup of coffee – jutted his chin out and jerkily nodded in acknowledgment.

“So, ladies,” he began with a friendly smile. “What are we talking about?”

Sharon and Greer glanced at one another; trepidation in Sharon’s eyes while glee flashed through Greer’s. It was a race to see who could open up their mouth and spit out a response fast enough.

“Nothing.” “Masturbation.”

Slowly – very slowly – Sharon turned to face her cousin head-on, glaring in disbelief at Greer’s cheek. Greer only smiled larger as she leaned back into her seat, looking for the world like a cat who had caught the canary. Sharon needed better family.

Izzy – on the other hand – seemed shell shocked as he remained ramrod straight in his chair. After an excruciatingly long moment where Sharon was worried he was suffering from a stroke, he pushed his glasses up his nose and muttered to himself, “Yep, I shouldn’t have asked. Stupid move, Iz.”

Luckily, the arrival of Bridge saved Sharon from anymore awkwardness. Who knew she’d actually appreciate his presence. The activity in the room died down immediately when their boss entered, a determined gait to his step and lips turned down in concentration.

“This is it,” he told the room at large as he swept towards the head of the table. He remained standing, dumping files and folders down onto the conference room table. “That terrorist sect we’ve been monitoring in Baltimore for the last three months? They’re finally ready to make their move. Intel came in this morning that they’re planning a concentrated attack on the Baltimore Metro tomorrow morning. They have explosives and guns and are moving them today.”

Sharon glanced down at the black and white photos that were shoved her way. This terrorist group – really, just your run of the mill jingoistic, white nationalists – had been priority number one around here for the last few months. It felt exhilarating to finally step in and shut down their operation.

“We’ll be tag-teaming this mission with the local SWAT team. This will be a textbook smash-and-grab. We’re not letting any of those bastards escape. I expect nothing less than perfection. Understood?”

The tense silence in the room was answer enough. Bridge jerked his head in satisfaction.

“Good. We roll out in 30.”

The room of agents immediately thinned as everyone left to prepare. Greer had an ecstatic smiled firmly in place as she stood.

“I love a good bust; it really breaks up the monotony of the workday.” She wiggled her eyebrows knowingly at Sharon as the two blondes walked out of the conference room. “Who knows, maybe this will help with your tenseness.”

Sharon stared studiously ahead. “I’m ignoring you.”

“That’s fine,” Greer said flippantly as she stopped at her desk, Sharon continuing on to hers. “You’ll thank me when you finally get around to _singing soprano!”_

Her voice carried across the wide, open space of the office. Sharon froze on the spot. More than one head swiveled in her direction. She could hear Greer sniggering behind her. Sharon breathed out once, counted to ten, and the stalked away, silently fuming all the while.

 

* * *

 

 

**_November 9 th, 2014_ **

**_Baltimore_ **

****

In a heavily armored van, Sharon mentally and physically prepared herself for the imminent bust of the terrorist sect. She had her Kevlar bulletproof vest strapped securely around her chest. Her trusty FNX-45 holstered around her thigh with several clips located on her person so she would never be without ammo.

She slowly rotated her neck in deep circles, groaning quietly to herself as joints popped and cracked uniformly. She was still taut with nerves and expectation. But it was good, being tense like this. It would keep her on her feet for what was to come. The worst thing you could do when entering a shootout was to not have your head on straight. You had to be prepared for anything. Anything less than that would get you – and others – killed.

Greer – seated next to her – looked utterly relaxed in the face of shooting up an abandoned warehouse filled to the brim with trigger happy terrorists. She was chewing gum, popping pink bubbles loudly every other minute or so.

The caravan of CIA and SWAT was scattered on the outskirts of Baltimore, in the long forsaken industrial district of the city. Their target was a near-depilated warehouse that looked like it had taken on a bomb and lost.

It was just as Bridge described. The terrorist group was moving their weapons in preparation for their upcoming attack. Luckily, they had yet to realize that they were being watched.

Sharon, Greer, and several other agents were partnered up with a SWAT contingent. Their leader – a man by the name of Becker – had already issued orders and was waiting for the go-ahead from his captain. Sharon was content to sit back and wait for the action to come to her.  

Becker’s radio crackled to life as his captain barked orders at him through the line. When the communication cut off, Becker nodded to his team and stood.

“We’re good to go. Carter, Martin, you’re with me.”

Sharon and Greer popped up into place as the van’s doors pulled up and dull sunlight filtered into the dark, artificial space. It was a dreary, cloudy day; more bleak and gray than anything else.

Moving silently and as one, the group of SWAT – covered in head to toe black body armor – crept towards the warehouse. Several more teams of SWAT and CIA were covering the body, steady converging together to take out the source.

As they reached the front doors, Sharon pressed herself into wet brick, ignoring the trickle of cold water as it sank into the sleeve of her jacket. Becker signaled to his team and within seconds smoke grenades were thrown in through the gaps of broken windows.

The result was simultaneous. Smoke burst through the warehouse as yells of surprise and protest rose up from within. Two of Becker’s men – armed with battering rams – stepped up to the rickety, metal doors and swinging together thrust the weapon into the door.

One swing. Two swings. Three.

The doors gave in, moaning as they were torn off their hinges. It was go time. Sharon sprung up into action, gun raised and safety off as she entered the warehouse. The air was thick with smoke and only with Sharon’s glasses was she able to see anything.

Blurs and blobs were moving quickly as the terrorists scattered like rats futilely trying to escape a sinking ship. Flashes of gunfire flicked throughout the smoke, the ringing of bullets echoing throughout Sharon’s head. She joined the fray, firing off her gun when necessary.

It wasn’t all gunfire. It ended up coming to blows with relative ease. Sharon found herself going up against a thug who had six inches on her and at least 80 pounds. She ducked and weaved past his blows, using her slender body to her advantage. Greer was nearby taking on her own adversary.

Sharon landed several punches on her guy before she was grabbed in a vicious choke hold and Greer watched as Sharon’s much larger opponent pushed her toward the wall to crash her head against the concrete. With reflexes quicker than Greer gave her credit for, Sharon planted a foot against the wall, arresting her forward motion and then ran up the wall, flipping herself over the head of her attacker.

Greer didn’t have time to be impressed, however, as she saw a man appear out of nowhere and pull his pistol. It was aimed right at Sharon.

“Sharon!” she shouted a warning.

Turning instinctively, Sharon grabbed the man who’d tried to crush her, wrapping her arm around the man’s neck as she rotated. When she faced the pistol-wielding soldier, it was with the man’s compatriot used as an effective shield. The bullet meant for Sharon buried itself into the soldier’s chest and Sharon dropped the body. She whipped out her pistol, fired one into the man’s chest and watched him drop to the floor, dead on arrival. 

She glanced at Greer with a smirk. “Do I still look tense to you?”

Greer impressively whistled. “You can be whatever you want if you keeping fighting like that.”

The two cousins shared a laugh before following Becker and his men up the shaky, wooden stairs that would take them up level by level to the top of the warehouse. Izzy and his SWAT team were taking care of business on the second-story, leaving the group to travel up to the third.

Right at the third story landing, they were ambushed by several of the terrorists. They jumped in, guns blazing as two groups fought. Sharon was expertly handling someone in hand-to-hand and neutralized the threat when she bashed his head into the stair banister and then threw him over it as he plummeted down the stairwell to the ground below.

“Now you’re just showboating,” Greer accused as she knocked out the goon giving her trouble.

Sharon shrugged lightly as she glanced down. “It’s fine. You can totally survive a three-story drop.”

She could see the man’s prone body spread across the concrete. He was still alive. Probably. Becker and his men spread throughout the floor, checking and securing the perimeter.

“Perimeter secure,” he announced as he came by the two CIA agents’ side. “Onto the fourth floor.”

“You go,” Sharon directed to Greer. “I’m going to take another look around.”

Greer shrugged nonchalantly. “Need a breather? You’re really getting up there in your old age.”

Sharon rolled her eyes toward the rafters. “Hardy-har-har. You’re hilarious.”

“I try,” Greer told her with a perfectly timed wink. “Don’t miss out on all of the fun.”

And with that, Greer, Becker, and his men began making their way up to the fourth floor, leaving Sharon behind. In the distance, she could still hear the pops and bangs of bullets ricocheting. Men were yelling, their words crashing together until it was nothing but garbled nonsense.

Sharon – gun in hand – slowly made her way down the long corridor. What stopped this floor from being one, open space was the use of paper thin walls that cut the floor into choppy rooms. Sharon came to a stop at the end of the hallway, right in front of a row of floor to ceiling windows.

They were your typical warehouse fare: checkered, grimy, many broken which provided a glimpse of the outside world. Sharon looked down at the parking lot where so many cars had vehicles had converged on the site. Not only were the CIA and SWAT here, but the BPD had come as well, red and blue sirens flashing. The entire cavalry was here.

No chance of any of those goons getting away. A job well done, Sharon thought to herself. Unfortunately for her, it was just a tad premature.

Her ears pricked as she heard a noise behind her. She turned on her heel, eyes widening as she saw one of the terrorists standing there, automatic rifle in hand and an almost manic gleam in his dark eyes. He was sweating as the panic of his situation had finally sunk in.

Worse than that, he was dangerous. And he had his sights set on Sharon.

She raised her pistol but he was faster than her. Before he could even blink a bullet was slamming into her chest, embedding itself into the Kevlar vest. The impact of the shot knocked Sharon back.

Right into the window.

_Crash!_

The glass shattered as her body flew through it. Between one breath and the next Sharon was airborne.

It was almost an out of body experience as she fell. She could see nothing but the sky above her and the shimmering glass as it plunged with her. She was entirely weightless as the air whistled through her ears, weaving through her hair.

It all happened so quickly but yet felt like an eternity. She didn’t know how long she was in freefall, all she knew was the sickening conclusion as her fall came to a stop on the hood of a patrol car.

The air was slammed out of her as she collided with the metal, the hood denting and breaking beneath the force of her fall.

She laid there, staring up at the sky with unknowing eyes as consciousness slammed back into her.

Everything hurt.

She had never felt this kind of all-consuming pain before. Her bones hurt, her muscles hurt, hell, even her skin hurt. The ringing in her ears was dizzying and she couldn’t concentrate through it.

And she couldn’t breathe. She really, _really_ couldn’t breathe.

The bullet had smashed right into her chest and it was like a 100lb weight resting atop her sternum as it slowly crushed her, almost as if she was drowning.

She was suffocating.

Her shaking hands patted her chest in a panic as she began hyperventilating from stress and fear. She couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t she breathe?

Sweat dripped down her forehead and the Kevlar vest hugged her like a chokehold. It was killing her.

God, all she wanted to do was breathe.

The world was spinning, the edges going dark in her periphery. She was panting, more like keening in a high pitched wail like some kind of distressed animal in its final moments.

This was it. This is how she was going to die.

She just needed to…

Suddenly, and without warning, air forced its way through her lungs. She arched forward as she greedily sucked in air in a single, long gulp.

Then it was like her body came back online.

She came back into awareness. The pain first and foremost was what she felt. Her body was a wreck from that three-story fall.

Weak and still lightheaded from her near suffocation, she slid down the hood, rolling off the ruined car and landing in a pathetic heap on the concrete. She wearily tried to raise herself to her hands as she spat out some trickling blood that had been pooling in her mouth.

She was definitely taking a trip to Medical after this.

Just then, a terrorist burst out of the door. The same one who had shot Sharon only minutes before. His eyes widened as they saw her spread out across the ground, looking like a rather sorry sight. He didn’t stay for long but took off running down a nearby alleyway.

“W-Wait,” Sharon croaked. “Come back.”

Someone had to chase that sonofabitch down.

With a strangled cry, she pushed herself to her feet and before her brain could tell her how monumentally a bad idea this was, she took off in pursuit. The adrenaline was the only thing sustaining her because all her body wanted to do was collapse.

She followed the bastard down into a dirty alleyway, cutting him off at an impasse.

“Come on, cupcake,” she weakly goaded as she held up her fists, “Let’s see if you can actually kill me this time.”

He charged her. Even in the amount of pain she was in she was still able to duck out of the way. She moved like lightning as she punched and kicked. He wasn’t a skilled fighter by any stretch of the imagination.

She grabbed him by the scruff of his wife-beater, spun him, and slammed him face first into a brick wall. Pulling out cuffs from her jeans, she quickly handcuffed the perp. She dragged him back towards the warehouse.

The action had died down and everyone was in arrest mode. Sharon handed off her terrorist to a police officer and slowly wandered towards Greer, a hand clutching at her abdomen. She probably had a couple bruised ribs, if not fully broken. Breathing was a bit tricky at the moment.

Greer was reveling in the raid’s success as she leaned back against an armored van. She raised an eyebrow as she took in Sharon’s disheveled appearance.

“What happened to you?” she asked. “You look like you got run over by a car.”

Sharon winced as she tried to catch her breath, her ribs protesting all the while from the strain.

“Close. I fell on one.”

Greer chuckled, the laughter dying when she realized Sharon was serious.

“Huh,” she mused to herself. “You never do anything halfway, do you, cuz?”

Sharon only groaned as she swayed in place. Standing was proving to be a problem. Greer sighed, pushed herself off the van, wrapped her arms carefully around Sharon and took her weight.

“Come on, let’s get you checked out. I can’t have you dying on me.”

 

* * *

 

 

**_November 9 th, 2014_ **

**_Washington, D.C._ **

****

It was hours later when Sharon – free from Medical’s clutches – finally stumbled through the door of her apartment. It was dark and silent, just like the lonely reality that was Sharon’s life. No one was ever waiting up for her. No one to talk about her day with over a home-cooked meal.

But that was what Sharon had signed up for years ago.

The first rule of being a spy: be prepared to be alone. Sharon knew the pitfalls of this life. And she was fine with it. Mostly. Just sometimes, on days like these when she was hopped up on pain meds, it was easy to forget that this was what she wanted.

It didn’t matter if it was SHIELD or the CIA. A personal life had never been a guarantee.

Even as fuzzy as she was with the copious amount of medication circling through her bloodstream, it didn’t stop Sharon from groaning with every single step she took as she wandered through her dark apartment. The first stop was in the kitchen where she poured herself a generous glass of chardonnay.

Glass in hand, she limped her way to the bathroom. When the bright lights flicked on, she rapidly blinked as the light assaulted her delicate eyes. When the world wasn’t static white, she braved a glance at the mirror.

She looked awful.

Cuts and bruises littered her face, her cheek so swollen she could barely see out her left eye. Thin, black stitches were woven throughout her hairline. She set the glass down, the wine sloshing and spilling out onto the countertop as her usual grace was gone.

She went to the bathtub, throwing back the shower curtain, and turning on the water. She made sure it was nice and hot as water began filling the tub, steam rising up from it. With the sound of surging water dancing through her head, she slowly began to undress.

It was a struggle.

She cried out as she slowly removed her jacket. Tears were stinging her eyes as she gingerly pulled off her shirt and tugged down her jeans. Her bra and underwear quickly followed, as well as the gauze that had been snuggly wrapped around her bruised and cracked ribs.

Her body was a tapestry of abuse.

Her ribs were black and blue as they stretched across the taut skin. Every breath, no matter how big or small, resulted in pain. The very worst was the massive bruise spreading across her chest, right where the bullet had hit her. It was nasty and vile as purple and black bled together. This kind of bruise would keep for weeks before finally fading away.

Sharon would be feeling it for a long while.

She turned to the bathtub, turning off the steady stream of water right as it neared the top. She grabbed her wine and slowly stepped into the heat. She winced as she slid into the water, breathing through her teeth until she was fully seated in its warmth.

It immediately felt better as the hot water sank into her bones, soothing the bruises and cuts dancing cruelly across her body. She sipped her wine periodically, letting it rest on the edge of the bathtub.

She stretched out, head sinking back into the tiles as her eyes slipped shut. Everything was quiet and peaceful for the first time that day. That tenseness she had been carrying around for days on end finally dissolved as she let the water wash over her.

This was the most at ease she had been in weeks. Finally, if only for a moment, the world made sense to her. She didn’t feel like she was fighting. Fighting for what? She didn’t know anymore. Bridge’s respect. A sense of belonging. A longing for what she once believed SHIELD to be. A sense of loneliness now that all her friends were gone on their own adventures.

There was so much she hadn’t allowed herself to feel, but it had still been there, taunting her at every turn.

But now…now it all faded away until it was background noise. She could worry about such things another day.

Now it was just her. Existing.

It felt good. _She_ felt good.

Maybe Greer was right. Maybe she should take some time and…explore. If she wasn’t getting under somebody anytime soon, why not enjoy herself?

A slight thrill went through Sharon at the mere thought. Leisurely, she lifted her slender leg out of the water as her hand reached out and caressed the skin, running over muscles that had been carved and formed from years of ballet, gymnastics, and field hockey.

Her hands sought out every dip and bend of her skin, one leg and then the other. Her eyes remained closed, her movements slow and lazy as she took her time. Next, they were gliding over the planes of her stomach, mindful of her injured ribs, but admiring of the abs she had always worked so hard for.

Her hands continued upward and Sharon let out a quiet groan of pleasure as they cupped her breasts. They molded perfectly to her hands as she held them. God, she loved her boobs. They were rather quite lovely, she was completely willing to admit that, vain or not. Not too big or too small. And they felt the best when held so tenderly by hands that knew them so well.

She bit down on her lip as her thumb encircled her nipple, the pink bud rising up as goosebumps spread across her arms, the cold mixing deliciously with the heat of the water. She shivered with anticipation.

She released her breasts and let her hands sink beneath the water. It didn’t take long for her purposeful fingers to sink through the folds of the labia before finding her clit. Her fingers languidly circled the little nub with so many nerve endings in it.

Her eyes closed as she ran through her usual fantasies for such nights. They varied from the cliché: cheerleader with the high school quarterback, two strangers crossing paths on a rainy night finding themselves pulling at clothes in an alleyway, etc. The only fantasy now firmly off limits was that of office time romance (thanks for nothing, Neal).

The man in her fantasy was never fully formed or distinct, what really set her off was the sensation of someone being near her, touching her, pleasing her, entering her.

Faint impressions would be left. Strong arms that encased her. A strong back she raked her nails down. Thick hair that she tangled her fingers in as she held onto dear life.

That was always enough.

It still was. A fire was lit beneath her skin as it surged through her, growing hotter and increasing her heartbeat until it was the only thing she could comprehend.

So lost in the sensations building in her, the telltale tightening of her abdomen as the climax built and built, she almost wasn’t aware when the fantasy began morphing, changing into something else entirely.

Silken strands of blond hair. A faint smatter of freckles across a distinct nose. Heavenly broad shoulders that flowed down into a trim waist. The bluest eyes she had ever seen.

Sharon shuddered, mouth dropping open as the orgasm rippled through her, taking her by surprise. She arched out of the water as wave after wave of ecstasy flowed. When it finally settled, she was panting and boneless as she sank back into the tub.

Lazy euphoria was her friend as she enjoyed the aftermath of the orgasm. Her eyes slowly blinked open as she giggled lightly to herself. She felt light as air. Lighter than she had in weeks, even months.

That had been _very_ good. 10/10 she could do again.

She’d have to keep the fantasy on lock for next time.

Her head tilted to the side as images of her illusion began coming back to her. Odd, she had actually pictured someone this time.

It was funny, it had almost looked like—

She sat up straight, upending water as it spilled onto the tile floor. Her eyes were blown wide with hysteria as the realization of who she dreamed about hit her harder than the earlier bullet had.

“Shit!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Happy to be back. Sorry for the lengthy hiatus. I was working on other projects and just feeling a bit burned out from this. But I'm back and hope to update much more frequently in the future. Thank you to everyone who has stuck by this series. It means the world to me to have such lovely readers like all of you. 
> 
> I know that in reality the odds of Sharon falling three-stories and walking away mostly unscathed are basically like none. She'd most likely be paraylzed or killed. But I figure in the MCU even normal people can get away with things that we cannot. You know, typical action movie fare. I acknowledge that it's not realistic, but suspend your disbelief. 
> 
> And look at that, Sharon's dreaming about Steve during her steamy times. That's definitely progess. But the question remains: is it just lust fueled fantasy or feelings hidden deeply in her subconsious? We'll just have to wait and see. I was nervous to end the chapter the way I did since it's out of my comfort zone, but I do like it. Hope everyone else does as well.
> 
> Please review! I'd love to hear your thoughts! Thanks for all your guys' support. You give me so much motivation.
> 
> Pic time!
> 
> Sharon sparring:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/46175474464/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Sharon at the bust:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/46175474444/in/dateposted-public/)


	26. One Day I'm Meant to Be with You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She could do this. She could act normal around him. She was a gifted spy. She knew how to act her way out of any situation like a pro. She could be cool. Steve would never know that his anatomy had been the one thing on her mind lately. It’s not like she actually had feelings for him. This was purely physical. She hadn’t gotten laid in months and he was easily the most attractive (bar Thor) person in her life. Of course, she would dream about him from time to time. It didn’t mean anything.

**_November 20 th, 2014_ **

**_Arlington, VA_ **

****

Sharon clutched her leather jacket closer to her as she stepped through the front doors of Peggy’s care facility, warding off the biting, autumn chill that had followed her in from her brisk walk outside. She breathed in a sigh of relief as a wave of heat washed over her. She rubbed her icy palms together while throwing a smile to the nurses at the front desk. She quickly signed in and began walking the all too familiar route to Peggy’s room. It was just as she was nearing her destination that she could hear a commotion coming from inside.

“I told you I already took my pill!”

Sharon came to a stop at the agitation and distress she could hear in Peggy’s voice. The sound of hands slamming down on a table shook Sharon out of her momentarily stupor and she picked up her pace, all but charging into Peggy’s room.

“Ms. Carter,” an irritable nurse said as she stood at Peggy’s bedside, pill and plastic cup in hand as she tried reasoning with the elderly woman. “I need you to trust me when I say that you haven’t. The last time you took it was yesterday.”

Peggy stubbornly shook her head, refusing to look the nurse in the eye. “I’m old, not bloody senile! I would remember if I took my pill, goddamnit!”

“Ms. Carter—“

“Aunt Peggy,” Sharon interrupted as two sets of eyes turned towards her. Sharon hurried to Peggy’s bedside, not so subtly shooting the nurse a dirty look as she reached for Peggy’s hand. Peggy immediately clutched onto her like a lifeline, finding solace in their strong, familial connection.

Sharon soothingly ran her thumb over the veins of Peggy’s delicate hands. She obstinately jutted out her jaw before narrowing her eyes at the nurse.

“What’s going on here?” she demanded to know, her protective streak over Peggy rearing its head. Peggy couldn’t fight her battles the way she used to, so Sharon was more than happy to fight them in her place.

The nurse wearily sighed as she realized she now had two Carters to contend with. “Ms. Carter mistakenly believes that she’s already taken her daily medication and that’s just not the case.”

“Bollocks,” Peggy cursed beneath her breath before looking up at Sharon. “I would remember if I had already taken it. Sharon, tell her she’s wrong and I will not stand for this kind of treatment.”

Sharon glanced between the fatigued nurse and her unhappy aunt. As much as it pained her, she knew the odds of Peggy being in the wrong were far greater than the alternative. Peggy’s memory was more and more like a jigsaw puzzle with every passing day. So many pieces were missing. Soon enough the puzzle would be far past the point of resembling anything other than pure chaos.

“Aunt Peggy,” Sharon softly murmured as she squeezed Peggy’s aged hand. “Do you think it’s possible that maybe the nurse is right? Maybe you just forget to take your pills.”

Peggy blinked. An unyielding glint rose up in her dark eyes before fading away into murky cloudiness. She gazed out into thin air, lower lip trembling slightly as she thought over Sharon’s words.

“I…I don’t think I did,” she hesitantly remarked, letting go of Sharon’s hand and wringing her fingers together nervously.

“But you don’t remember, do you?” Sharon gently coaxed, guiding Peggy to the conclusion that needed to be drawn. She hated to play the role of bad cop as she took advantage of Peggy’s faulty memory. But – she justified silently to herself – if it kept Peggy healthy by keeping her up to date on her meds, then it was a role she was willing to play. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Aunt Peggy, your medications are meant to keep you here as long as possible. But they don’t work if you’re not consistently taking them. If the nurse says you haven’t, don’t you think we should believe her?”

Peggy shot a suspicious glance at the nurse before lifting her fragile shoulders in a slight shrug. “She doesn’t have the look of a Hydra agent.”

Sharon nearly choked on laughter but held it on as she gazed fondly at her aunt. “No, she doesn’t. And you trust me, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Peggy answered without hesitation as she leaned her head back to look up at Sharon from her bedframe. “That’s never been in question, dearest.”

“Then trust me when I say I would never let anything happen to you. Trust me when I say that you haven’t taken your pill yet. Can you do that?”

Sharon tucked out her bottom lip and widened her eyes, just as she always had as a little kid when trying to get her way. Uncle Daniel had always said that she had Peggy wrapped around her finger.

Peggy resignedly sighed as she held out her hand to the nurse. “I will if you stop giving me that look of yours. It always got you second servings of ice cream.”

“Cookies too,” Sharon delightedly told her as her lips curled up into a pleased smile as Peggy swallowed the pill. The nurse shot Sharon a grateful look before leaving the two Carter women alone.

Sharon pulled a plush armchair closer to the bed and plopped down into it, hissing as her ribs shifted beneath her blouse.

Peggy clucked her tongue knowingly. “That sounded painful.”

“Just a bit,” Sharon muttered between clenched teeth as she controlled her breathing in an attempt to reduce the throbbing pain passing through her abdomen.

“What have you been getting up to?” Peggy inquired as she pulled her quilted afghan over her legs, settling in for the long haul.

So Sharon told her about her latest mission, leaving out a classified detail here and there. Peggy – as always – made for the best audience. She always knew what question to ask to get the best story out of Sharon.

As always, talk of work meandered seamlessly into Sharon’s personal life. There had never been a filter between the two. Sharon had never felt the need to keep anything from Peggy. At least, not until Steve. But that was a can of worms Sharon had no desire to deal with at the moment.

“Thanksgiving will be in Boston this year,” she told Peggy after nearly an hour of conversation. “Aunt Judy’s hosting and I’m sure more than one Howling Commando legacy will be in attendance.”

“Hmm,” Peggy hummed in response. She had been drifting back into her mountain of pillows all throughout their chat. Now her eyes were all but closed and her head tipped back as she let the afternoon wash over her. “Judy makes quite a spectacular pecan pie.”

Sharon smiled in agreement. “My mouth waters just thinking about it. And her mashed potatoes! I would kill for her recipe.”

Peggy quietly chuckled to herself before the laughter abruptly cut off. Her wrinkled eyes widened in alarm as she glanced around the room, confusion clear in her dark gaze. The confusion only increased when she looked at Sharon.

“W-who are you?” she tentatively asked as her eyes pinged-ponged throughout the room. “Where am I?”

Sharon’s heart sank as she sat up straight in her chair. “Aunt Peggy—“

“I only have one niece,” Peggy snapped as her lips thinned into a grim line. “And you are not her. Is this a trap?”

“Peggy—“

“I want Daniel,” Peggy asserted frantically as she struggled to throw her thick blanket off her weak legs. “Where’s Daniel?”

In the midst of her struggle, her hands knocked against the call button, alerting the on-duty nurses to the commotion occurring within Peggy’s room. Sharon was on her feet in an instant as she tried to calm down her disturbed aunt.

“Aunt Peggy, please just listen—“

“I want Daniel!” Peggy shakenly yelled as she shrunk back from Sharon’s hands. She didn’t want Sharon to touch her. The realization felt like a bucket of cold water being poured over Sharon’s head. She only stood there motionless as two nurses burst into the room.

“Ms. Carter, what’s the matter?” one asked as she came up alongside the bed.

“I want my husband,” Peggy strongly told her, her troubled gaze still locked on a frozen Sharon. “And I want this stranger out of my room!”

“Ms. Carter—“

“It’s okay,” Sharon numbly told the nurse as she backed away from the bed. “It’s fine. I’ll just go.”

She walked to the door even though every step felt like lead was attached to her boots. When she was at the frame she risked a glance back over her shoulder. Peggy was still quarreling in the bed as the nurses attempted to pacify her.

She didn’t once look at Sharon.

Sharon turned on her heel and strode out of the room, Peggy’s confused and frightened cries still ringing in her ears long after she left the care facility.

 

* * *

 

 

**_November 24 th, 2014_ **

**_Boston_ **

****

Judy Martin’s household could be described in two words: disordered chaos. The red brick home was filled to the brim with people of every age. Family – blood and otherwise – was spread out throughout the house having conversations of every kind as the familiar scents of a sumptuous Thanksgiving feast wafted throughout the home.

Sharon was right at the epicenter of the wild scene. She found herself in the kitchen, arms filled with a wiggly, giggling three-year-old. Wyatt was half of the terrible twosome that he and his twin, Ryder, made up. Ryder was across the room crawling all over his poor mother Cara (Sharon’s cousin) as she tried to make small talk with Sharon’s father Harrison.

Wyatt seemed to be made up entirely of the messy curls atop his head and the bright, bubbly laughter that kept pouring out of him every time Sharon poked his round belly. He was kicking his feet wildly as Sharon kept him entertained in the security of her arms.

She was only in the kitchen because her mother was. In her usual fashion, Amanda had adorned an apron and put up her hair as she chopped up vegetables for her famous sausage-cranberry stuffing.

Sharon swiped a small piece of celery and passed it along to Wyatt’s grabby hands. He immediately began nibbling on the stalk, little droplets of drool slipping out of his mouth and landing on Sharon’s shoulder.  

“You should have seen how she looked at me, Mom,” Sharon continued on with her story, filling in Amanda on all the heart-wrenching details of her last visit with Peggy. “It was like I was the enemy.”

Amanda sighed as a stray strand of hair fell into her eyes. She batted it away and continued methodically chopping.

“She has dementia, Sharon,” she murmured absentmindedly. “What do you expect?”

Sharon’s brown eyes narrowed. “She’s never been afraid of me before. Why would she? I would never hurt her.”

Amanda’s eyes softened as she gave her only child her full attention. “Of course you wouldn’t, sweetheart. But unfortunately, Peggy can’t always remember that.”

Sharon looked away, her eyes traveling out to the living room where general merriment was occurring. It was a larger crowd than normal. Judy and her husband had had to buy three turkeys this year instead of the usual two. But it was good to have so much family to go around. Sharon had always been surrounded by such unconditional love.

Sharon couldn’t help but think of others like Natasha and Steve who didn’t have any family at all. Perhaps Natasha had holed up with Clint somewhere. They always joked about Budapest, maybe they were there. 

And Steve was in the States once again. Sam’s mother had demanded her son’s presence at the Wilson home for Thanksgiving. Steve was biding his time in New York. He had sent her a selfie of him and Tony’s bots only this morning. Dummy, for some reason, had been wearing a Santa hat even though they were still a month away from Christmas. Sharon had decided not to question it. Apparently Steve, Tony, Pepper, Maria, Colonel Rhodes, and Bruce Banner were celebrating a Friendsgiving of sorts. It seemed to mostly consist of Chinese takeout.

It sounded nice, all things considered. Sharon was just glad he wasn’t sitting alone in some rundown motel room in a foreign country as he tirelessly continued his crusade to find Barnes. Speaking of Barnes, he had also reached out to her today.

Well, she couldn’t be positive it was him as it came from an unknown number. But the only other person who texted her with an unknown number was Natasha and this text certainly hadn’t been her style.

**I wish I could get drunk.**

It had taken Sharon by surprise when she had received it hours earlier. She hated to admit that it took a full minute for her brain to connect the dots. She hadn’t responded yet. She didn’t quite know what to say. Truthfully, when she had given Barnes her number she really hadn’t counted on him ever reaching out.

He was the world’s most famous and feared assassin and was currently on the run from his childhood friend. What could he want from her? But she had given it to him in good faith. So she would be there for him…whatever that entailed. She’d text him later. After Aunt Judy’s pecan pie.

Hmm. Maybe she would send him a pie recipe. That would have to lift his spirits, right? If you can’t get drunk then eat some pie. Pie always made things better.

“She’s never really going to get better, is she?” Sharon quietly asked as she turned her head back to mother. “I mean…I knew she wouldn’t. But this is her new reality, isn’t it? She’s just going to keep getting worse until she….”

_Dies._

But Sharon couldn’t say that. The worse thing to ever think was that one day Peggy wouldn’t be here anymore. But wasn’t it worse when Peggy was still here but wasn’t the Peggy that Sharon loved with every inch of her soul? The woman who had helped mold Sharon into the woman she was today.

“I’m afraid so,” Amanda admitted. Wyatt wriggled impatiently in Sharon’s arms, demanding that she release him from his prison. Sharon acquiesced, setting him on the floor and watching as his shorts legs carried him across the living room to his older sister and Sharon’s goddaughter, Daphne.

Amanda set down her knife as she wiped her hands on her apron. Her shoulders sank as she bit down on her lip contemplatively. She wanted to tell Sharon something but was concerned about how her daughter would take it.

“Sharon,” she began as Sharon watched her mother closely. “Your father and I have been speaking with Jill—“

“No,” Sharon cut her mother off with a fierce shake of her head. She knew exactly where this conversation was going and she wanted no part of it.

“Sharon—“

“DC is her home,” Sharon spat out, using all her willpower to keep her voice at a contained whisper so as not to draw any unwanted attention from the numerous guests in the house. “She’s lived there for decades. That is where she built SHIELD, for God’s sake! We’re not shipping her back to England so she can be sent to pasture and die.”

Amanda looked down, the onslaught of Sharon’s fear (and it was fear guiding her words) too much for her to take.

“It’s what Jill wants,” she softly supplied, like that should have been enough to change Sharon’s mind.

Sharon snorted disdainfully as her eyes rolled towards the ceiling. “Oh, I bet it is.”

She turned on her heel and stalked through the living room, making sure to dodge the small and fast bodies of children running this way and that. She slinked past loud and boisterous family members and slipped out through the patio doors, shutting them behind her.

She was instantly shivering but her stubborn nature kept her from going back inside. It was far too chilly to just be out here in jeans and the stylish, fringe sweater she was rocking. But she’d be damn if she went inside for a jacket. Instead, she ventured further into the yard before sitting herself down on a patio chair.

It was a rather nondescript, fall day. Winter was on the horizon. All the trees in the yard had been stripped of their leaves which laid scattered across the dull and pale grass. The leaves didn’t have brilliant bursts of color but were a sickly brown as well as wet and slimy from the previous night’s rainfall.

Dead, just like the thoughts plaguing Sharon’s mind.

She hadn’t actively tried to be difficult. But she always had such a gut reaction when it came to Peggy. Even more so now that she wasn’t all there anymore. And so many things in Sharon’s life had been radically changed this year. She had lost so much, most of which she was willing to admit, but others that still lurked beneath the surface even if she didn’t acknowledge them. She didn’t want to lose Peggy on top of everything else.

She wouldn’t be able to bear the crushing weight of it if she did.

She didn’t know how long she sat out there, lost in her own thoughts, and trying hard not to shiver when she heard the door slide open behind her. She sighed quietly to herself. The cavalry had arrived. She could only guess at who had volunteered to pull her out of her macabre mood.

“Look,” she began, turning her head to face the unknown intruder. Her mouth dropped open when she saw who was standing there.

“Trip!” she happily exclaimed, jumping out of her seat. She was in his arms in two seconds flat. He caught her easily, standing to his full height so that her shoes scraped the concrete of the patio as the two cousins embraced.

“Hey, girl,” he rumbled into her ear as he held her tightly. She squeezed him for all she was worth before releasing him. She took a step back, eyeing him intently to make sure he was entirely whole, and then…she punched him in the shoulder. Hard.

“Ow!” he let out a howl of pain as he rubbed his tender shoulder. “What the hell was that for?”

“That, asshole, was for letting me think the worse for all these months,” she stated matter-of-factly. “I call, I text, and you couldn’t send me a quick ‘all good’ in return? I had no idea what happened to you during Hydra-gate. For all I knew you could have been dead.”

Trip only shook his head. “Shouldn’t I be saying that to you? You were at ground zero, after all. You were there when the Trisk burned to the ground. If the rumor mill is to be believed, you helped Cap dismantle it all.”

Sharon looked away, bad memories from that day filtering in quickly. “Don’t remind me.”

She marched back to her chair, sitting back down as she crossed her legs and wrapped her arms around her midsection. Trip followed her, plopping down into the open chair next to her. He stretched out his legs and leaned back as he made himself comfortable.

Since Sharon was Sharon, she couldn’t stay mad at Trip for very long and soon enough was asking, “Where have you been?”

“Working,” he answered glibly.

“Working where?” Sharon curiously fired back with an arched eyebrow. She knew Trip, he was just like her. Serving at SHIELD had been more than a job for them. It had been a calling from deep within their blood, born out of their love for their family and the belief that they were doing the right thing. SHIELD may be gone but Trip was still out there fighting the good fight, just like Sharon. The question was, who was he doing it with?

He shrugged lightly. “Not the CIA, that’s for sure. I see that Greer’s converted you to the dark side.”

“I don’t think there’s a darker side than Hydra,” Sharon countered with a weak smile. “And let’s not kid ourselves, SHIELD was Hydra from the start.”

The teasing atmosphere dissolved as Trip blew out a slow breath as his tongue rolled over his words. “Yes. Yes, it was. And to think, I looked up to my goddamn SO and he was Hydra the whole fucking time.” He laughed but there was no humor anywhere in his tone.

Sharon winced as she looked down at her lap. “Yeah, I heard about Garrett. That sucks. What did they call him again?”

“The Clairvoyant,” Trip dryly stated, looking for all the world that he desperately needed a drink. Sharon understood the impulse. Speaking of Hydra always made her want to lose her sorrows in a bottle of strong alcohol.

“Ugh. How pretentious,” she said with nose wrinkled in disgust. Trip nodded in agreement.

“It fit Garrett to a T. Now there’s nothing left of him but a dried up puddle of blood.”

Sharon had no idea what that meant and something told her that Trip wasn’t about to share anytime soon. That was okay. Everyone needed their secrets. She wouldn’t begrudge Trip his.

Trip’s brows furrowed in thought as he gruffly admitted, “Sometimes I wonder if I had seen Garrett for what he was maybe I could have saved Monroe. Maybe his six-year-old son wouldn’t be an orphan.”

Sharon had not known much about Dan Monroe. She’d passed him occasionally in the halls of the Trisk. She knew he had been Trip’s partner when both had been on Garrett’s team. She knew he was one of the many SHIELD agents who had died during Hydra’s uprising. Just another innocent life taken and nothing to show for it.

She reached across until her hand lightly rested on his arm. “Monroe wasn’t your fault, Trip. None of us could have ever guessed what was brewing beneath the surface. Garrett, Pierce, Neal, Rumlow; all of them were scum from the beginning. They just knew how to hide it.”

Sharon looked out over the decaying yard as it prepared for the ultimate death of winter to cover its ugliness. “It’s funny, Peggy and Gabe spent the whole War fighting Hydra and in the end, they thought they succeeded in tearing it apart. They built SHIELD to be a beacon of hope. But Hydra won and now it’s ruined everything.”

Trip contemplated her words for a moment before offering up, “Maybe not everything. There’s still you and me, we’re still out there doing the best that we can. Sometimes that’s all we can do.”

“Yeah,” Sharon concurred after a moment of silence. “It is. Trip, what exactly _are_ you doing? You’re not CIA, not FBI, hell you’re not even Interpol. Did you go into the private sector?”

Trip’s eyes shiftily darted away. “Something like that.”

“Trip—“

“Hear me out—“

“No, Trip,” Sharon cut him off. “Just…let me say this, okay?” She only continued after he nodded his consent. “Whatever it is you’re doing, even if you can’t tell me about it…you’re at least being safe, right?”

Sharon had lost so much, she didn’t want to add Trip to the pile. She was protective of the people in her life in a way she had never been before the fall of SHIELD. The reveal of Hydra had shown her how finite life was. How quickly everything could change.

She didn’t want more change, she just wanted the people she loved to stay safe.

His mouth widened into a brilliant grin. “Of course. I got a whole team watching my back. And if you knew how absolutely badass they all are, you wouldn’t be worried about my booty.”

His eyes twinkled jokingly, “Although I do appreciate your concern over my well-formed ass.”

Sharon groaned, “I don’t know why I bother.”

“Admit it, Share-Bear,” he joked with a bat of his eyes. “You still carry a torch for me. I remember when you had a crush on me.”

“I was 15!” she defended loudly over his ringing guffaws that echoed across the yard. “You drove a cool car. That was where the attraction began and ended.”

“Uh-huh,” he said unconvincingly, lips twisting into a big smile. “You keep lying to yourself, girl. Trip knows the truth. I’m like a bloodhound.”

“You’re a child is what you are.”

Their squabble had the makings of turning into a wrestling match had not Sharon’s phone beeped with an incoming text message. She shoved Trip away from her before pulling it out and reading over the message.

It had her groaning all over again, except it wasn’t nearly as charming as Trip. Not that she would ever tell him that.

“What?” Trip asked from his spot. “What’s up?”

“Seminars,” Sharon glumly explained as she tucked her back into her jeans. “I’m needed in New York for a week of hell. According to Greer, Seminar Week is the most torturous thing a CIA agent could ever endure.”

 Sucks to suck,” Trip commented, completely without empathy.

“Yes,” Sharon had to agree, “Yes, it does.”

That reminded her, Steve was currently in New York.

The same Steve she had… _dialed the rotary phone_ to thoughts of.

Yikes.

 

* * *

 

 

**_November 29 th, 2014_ **

**_New York City_ **

****

Sharon grumbled as she was once again knocked into for the umpteenth time while she tried to navigate the jam-packed streets of New York City. Tourists and locals were everywhere, surging this way and that in a constant stream of movement. Did anyone ever take their time here? Stop and smell the roses? No, of course not. If they did they’d be run down by power-hungry businessmen in their crisp suits as they yelled into their cell phones.

The chill of the upcoming winter was in full force as Sharon wrapped her coat tighter around her, tugging on the belt that was cinched around her waist. She was midway through what she privately referred to as Hell Week. Seminars were the absolute worse. All she did every single day was be confined to bleak, sterile conference rooms as senior CIA personnel droned on about the most mundane topics and procedures.

It didn’t help her foul mood that Greer was exempt from the entire week due to a deep undercover mission in Malaysia. She’d been sending Sharon pictures all week of her adventures; rubbing it in Sharon’s face that she was living the dream as a spy while Sharon jotted down notes and tried not to bash her head into the nearest wall.

However, there was a silver lining. Today’s session was only a half day and wouldn’t begin until after lunch. Which gave Sharon an entire morning to herself to get out, stretch her legs, and see the sights that the Big Apple had to offer.

Also, she and Steve were grabbing coffee.

It hadn’t even been her idea. When she had innocuously texted him that she’d be in New York for CIA business, he had extended his stay and organized their little rendezvous.

Awesome.

It’s not that Sharon didn’t want to see him. Honestly, he was one of her favorite people to see ever since they had comfortably entered the friendship stage of their relationship. It was just…well, she had masturbated to thoughts of him.

How do you look your friend in the eye after having naughty fantasies about them where their bodies were being completely objectified for your own personal pleasure? She had already done so twice. Three times, actually. If she counted that time in the shower. Which Sharon totally did.

God, she was a terrible friend.

It had taken literal years for them to grow into a space of trust and understanding to become actual pals and she was fucking it up by dreaming about his naked body doing things to her naked body. And she couldn’t even stop fantasizing about him. She had tried, honestly. But every other daydream was either supremely unsatisfying or had a way of morphing into him anyway when she let her concentration slip.

She needed him for her own sexual gratification.

That thought alone had her freezing on the sidewalk. And of course, seconds later a fast-talking tourist bumped into her. Sharon batted the poor soul away as if he was a bothersome fly. She continued walking, her booties clicking over the cement as she made her way to her and Steve’s meeting point.

She could do this. She could act normal around him. She was a gifted spy. She knew how to act her way out of any situation like a pro. She could be cool. Steve would never know that his anatomy had been the one thing on her mind lately. It’s not like she actually had feelings for him. This was purely physical. She hadn’t gotten laid in months and he was easily the most attractive (bar Thor) person in her life. Of course, she would dream about him from time to time. It didn’t mean anything.

With those encouraging thoughts in mind, Sharon confidently sashayed her way across 20th street. Her feet carried her up the stairs to the popular and iconic High Line. Once abandoned freight rail lines, it had been transformed into a park of sorts that floated above the hustle and bustle of the streets below. With trees, greenery, and shrubs planted along the walkways, it had brought nature and the urban environment together to create an enjoyable walking experience.

Steve had suggested it and Sharon could see why as she ascended to the main level. It truly was a stunning sight to behold as an autumn breeze lazily blew by, ruffling her locks of hair. She pushed up onto her toes to peer through the crowd for a certain super-soldier….

There he was; standing near the railing, coffee in hand. He saw her just as she clocked him. His lips twitched up into a friendly grin as he nodded his head to her. The crowds parted like the Red Sea and she finally got a good look at him.

It wasn’t pretty. Not because he was poorly dressed. No, it was rather the opposite. The way he was dressed was…well, doing _things_ to her. In fact, it sucker-punched her. For all that Steve had finally embraced 21 st Century fashion, he still valued comfort over anything else. He had a very casual approach to clothes. T-shirts, denim jeans, leather jackets, plaid button-ups, etc.

And henleys. He did love his henleys. And just like all of his shirts, the henley he had adorned today was two sizes too small. It stretched tantalizingly tight across his broad shoulders and hugged his bulging biceps, sinfully showing them off to everyone with a pair of eyes. Unfortunately, Sharon had a pair of eyes.

And boy, was she looking.

It might have been November, but she was definitely feeling the heat. It took everything in her not to poke her tongue out and wet her lips as her eyes quickly scanned his person. With her throat as parched as the Sahara Desert, she forced her feet to move his way. He was still smiling amiably at her as she grew closer.

“Hey, stranger,” she weakly offered up. If Steve noticed her skittish approach he was kind enough not to mention it as he held out one of the two cups of coffee he was holding.

“Grande Americano with two pumps of toffee nut syrup,” he said in greeting as Sharon took it from him. She ignored the fizzing sparks that erupted across her fingertips as their digits brushed each other in the handoff of the cup.

Sharon couldn’t help but beam as she looked down at her preferred drink of choice. “You remembered.” She took a sip, eyes slipping shut as the espresso and nutty flavor of the syrup invaded her taste buds. It was the perfect wake-up call to get her head back on straight. She blinked her eyes opened and glanced at the cup he was cradling in his hand. (Had he always had such large hands?)

“I imagine you’re drinking some kind of sugary monstrosity,” she accused, remembering his penchant for truly terrible drinks that should never in a thousand years be considered coffee.  

“Hey, there’s nothing monstrous about a Peppermint Mocha with extra whip cream and extra chocolate syrup,” he replied as he took a sizeable gulp of his beverage. When he lowered the cup a speck of whip cream remained in the corner of his mouth. Sharon wanted to lick it off. She quickly reverted her gaze as she tried to keep the conversation going. Anything to distract from how distracting his overall presence was to her.

“You’re such a heathen when it comes to coffee,” she bemoaned as she and Steve fell in line and began walking the path. Beneath them, she could hear the honking of horns and the noise that came from thousands of people all existing in the same place at the same time. Yet, it felt peaceful up here as the two took in the sights and sounds of the park.

“No, I was a heathen when I was drinking sludge on the frontlines of the War,” Steve plainly informed her. “Mud tasted better than the crap Dernier would brew for us.”

Sharon bit down her giggles. “I thought everything was better in the ‘good ol’ days.’”

Steve lifted his shoulder in a simple half-shrug. “Definitely not the coffee.”

The shared good-natured grins and when Sharon realized that she could get dangerously trapped in his eyes, she forced her gaze away. Clearing her throat, she tried steering the conversation to safer territory.

“Look at us,” she gestured to the vast walkway that stretched out before them as skyscrapers rose above them, their steel and glass glinting in the faint, pale light. “We haven’t had a playdate in forever.”

Steve groaned, shaking his head in despair. “You had to call it a playdate.”

“Oh come on,” Sharon cajoled as she bumped his shoulder with hers. Even through the layers of clothing she still felt the heat of his body sink into hers. “You loved our playdates in DC.”

“They were patronizing.”

“They were _fun,_ ” Sharon countered smoothly. “And if I hadn’t forced you out into the world you wouldn’t have had a social life at all. So you’re welcome for that.”

“You’re a regular Mother Teresa,” he dryly quipped.

Sharon flashed a grin in response. “Just call me Saint Sharon.”

This was good. Familiar. The natural groove of their friendship was easy to fall into even if they hadn’t seen each other in several months. Most of their conversations took place over text nowadays. Quick one-word answers and sporadic sentences that belied how busy both truly were with their own lives. But they still fit nicely together.

It was moments like these that Sharon truly comprehended how welcome Steve’s friendship was. How much she needed it in her own life. Which was even more reason that she needed to squash her fantasies of the two of them doing the dirty. Steve was too important to be turned into a sex object. What they had was too big for her to ruin it with her pesky hormones.

“Hey,” he quietly interjected as she looked up in surprise. She hadn’t realized that she had been noticeably drifting. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she unconvincingly threw out. “Why do you ask?”

“You look like you’re a million miles away. I hope I’m not boring you—“

"Of course you’re not,” she quickly interrupted. “It’s just…work stuff. My brain’s filled with nonsense from Seminar Week.”

“Hmm.” Steve looked ahead as his lips curled up into a small grin. “Well here’s a story for you. You want to know how I ended up pranking Sam and swapping out all his boxers with Captain America ones?”

Sharon snickered as she looked at Steve. “That’s petty of you.”

Steve smiled deviously. “Precisely.”

He launched into his long-winded tale and by the end, Sharon had to clutch her stomach as she laughed long and hard. It was easy after that. They could talk and Sharon could just exist in the here and now with him. She wasn’t worried about anything as they strolled the scenic High Line, taking in the various abstract sculptures and colorful murals that embellished neighboring building walls.

Everything was perfect.

Until…

She blinked in surprise as she saw a familiarly arrogant figure stalking towards them.

“Shit!” she breathed out as she immediately ducked behind Steve, using his bulk to try and hide her from sight.

“Uh, Sharon?” Steve asked, brows furrowed in confusion as he tried to turn towards her.

“No-no-no! Stay still!” she hissed as she continued using him for concealment. But luck wasn’t on her side. She had been spotted.

“Sharon?” God, even his voice was haughty. Sharon sighed and reluctantly slinked out from her hiding place as she met the ghost from her past head-on.

“Max,” she begrudgingly acknowledged. He looked just as uptight as he had during their years at Georgetown. He was in a designer suit, sleek pea coat, brown leather gloves covering his hands, and a silk scarf draped loosely around his neck. His brunette curls were gelled to his head. His strong, handsome features were transformed into a badly hidden sneer as he looked at her.

He was Max Davenport. Her college sweetheart. Their relationship had burned bright and hot for two years only to crash and burn when he proposed at their graduation. They would have never worked out even if she had accepted his ludicrous proposal. He hated that her dreams lied with SHIELD and not with being his trophy wife as he conquered the Upper East Side. Honestly, she didn’t know why she wasted two years of her life being at his beck and call.

He glanced Steve’s way, eyes flashing with recognition. Something ugly appeared in his gaze as he held out his gloved hand to the other man.

“Maxwell Davenport, Sharon’s ex-fiancé.”

The sheer audacity of his assumption had Sharon bristling as she butted in, “If I remember correctly, _which_ I do, I turned you down, Max. You should remember that,” she said with a smile that was all teeth. “It was broadcast on a jumbotron, after all.”

“I was trying to be romantic,” he belabored the point in an argument they had had one too many times after the fact.

“No, you were using the public as a buffer to force me into saying yes,” Sharon retorted. That’s when the exes remembered that they weren’t alone in their conversation. Steve’s eyes had been ping-ponging back and forth during their tête-à-tête.

Steve glanced down at the hand still proffered to him and slowly reached out to shake it. “Steve Rogers,” he introduced himself, using his strength to his advantage when he squeezed Max’s hand. Max flinched but still maintained his icy façade.

“Yes, I recognize you. Captain America.” He glanced at Sharon distastefully before speaking, “A bit Freudian for you, isn’t it, Sharon? Going for your aunt’s long lost lover. I should have seen it really, you were always obsessed with her. But to this degree? That’s just unhealthy.”

Steve and Sharon both glared with everything in them. Peggy had always been a sore spot in Sharon’s relationship with Max. He had never handled it well knowing that Peggy’s opinion had always mattered more to Sharon than Max’s. Also, Peggy had hated Max. She had chewed him out in front of the entire Carter Clan during an uncomfortable Christmas dinner. Sharon should have dumped his sorry ass then.

“You leave Peggy out of this, you sorry piece of shit,” she hissed out. Steve nodded from beside her as he imposingly crossed his arms across his chest.

“I’m with the lady on this one.”

Rather than be scared for his life like a sensible man, Max only laughed derisively as he eyed the blonde duo. “Wow, quite the pair you two make, it’s like looking at life-size Barbie and Ken dolls. How quaint.”

“Max, unless you want the privilege of being beat up by Captain America, I’d keep walking if I were you,” Sharon warned as she curled her hands into tightly clenched fists. If he wasn’t out of her eyesight in five seconds, she’d jump him.

Seeing that he had succeeded in riling her up, Max was willing to tactfully retreat. “I wish I could say it was a pleasure running into you after all these years, Sharon, but that would be a lie.”

“Likewise,” she seethed. He took one last look at her before melting back into the crowds. The second he was out of sight, Sharon felt the tension in her shoulders loosen. She blew out a breath, shaking her head.

Steve only watched her curiously. “Why’d you date that asshole?”

Why indeed.

“He had such pretty abs,” she muttered as her lips puckered into a pout. “I’m a sucker for abs.” She was definitely a sucker for Steve’s abs. Not that she was telling him that anytime soon. Or ever.

Steve snorted into his coffee. “Isn’t that why you dated Tapper?”

Sharon shiftily shrugged, almost as if she had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

“Maybe.”

Steve shook his head, eyes crinkling in amusement at her dating woes. “You have terrible taste in men.”

Sharon had to look away at that truth that was literally standing right in front of her. “Oh, trust me,” she murmured quietly to herself, “I’m aware.”

Steve – the bastard – was finding this all too funny. “And to think,” he told her with a twinkle in his blue eyes, “You missed out on being Mrs. Sharon Davenport.”

Sharon groaned. “Shut up.”

But Steve wasn’t done yet. “How would you spend your days as his wife? Poolside at the country club? Plastic surgery by the time you’re 25? Because are you really a socialite without at least a nose job and some Botox?”

Sharon really wanted to punch him but she was trying so hard not to laugh. “Stop it.”

Steve looked equally as ready to break as her. In fact, neither lasted long once they looked at each other. Loud, joyful laughter burst out of them at the hilarity of what had just occurred. Even as Sharon’s giggles weakened, Steve let out a full-bodied laugh. She couldn’t help but watch and admire the scene before her. In all the years she had known him she had never seen him quite so carefree. He had always carried the burden of Captain America and the 70 years he lost on his shoulders like Atlas bearing the weight of the world.

But right now he was just a man in his 20s nearly crying because he was laughing so hard. His head was tilted back, eyes adorably scrunched shut as his body shook with laughter.  His hand had reached up and was slapping his left pectoral in glee as he let out a snort. The sun, which had up until this point been hidden, finally poked through the clouds; rays shining down until Steve’s hear shined like golden silk.

Tendrils of warmth coiled through Sharon’s stomach as she gazed fondly at him. This time it wasn’t just attraction or lust. She felt…at peace, looking at him. Like everything they had gone through was supposed to lead them to this exact moment in time.

Everything just clicked into place for her.

Every smile. Every glare. Everything they had said. Everything they hadn’t. The trials and tribulation of their years together at SHIELD. The validation she had always sought from him. Her desire to be his person in this century so he wouldn’t have to be alone. Every single playdate flashed in her mind. Every time it hurt when he didn’t trust her. Why she wanted him to trust her in the first place.

Everything just suddenly made sense. The realization struck her like lightning. She couldn’t believe she had been so dumb for so long.

Ah, fuck.

This wasn’t purely physical. It had never been. She had only been fooling herself. She had _feelings_ for Steve. Honest to God feelings.

Butterflies in her stomach. Sweaty palms. She wanted to hear his voice in her ear as he told her how his day was. She wanted to wear his clothes so she could cocoon into his woodsy, earthy scent and smell it everywhere. She wanted to sleep with him.

Not just sex, (which she wouldn’t turn down) but laying side by side in bed, legs tangled together as they whispered their hopes and dreams to one another in the quiet of night. She wanted to sit and listen as he shared all his frustrations over continually coming up short when looking for Barnes. She wanted lazy Sundays with Netflix and Chill.

She wanted it all.

Oh. God.

She was so screwed.

 

* * *

 

 

It was dark and quiet in the confines of Catherine and Jessie’s bedroom. The newlyweds were peacefully cocooned in their king-sized bed as they slept.

_Scritch-scritch-scritch._

Jessie eyes groggily blinked open at the faint, scraping noises he could hear from outside their closed bedroom door.

“Babe,” Catherine yawned, still half-asleep as she felt her husband moving around in their bed. “What’s that noise?”

_Scritch-scritch-scritch._

 “I don’t know,” Jessie slowly said. “I hope it’s not rats again.”

The noise continued, this time growing closer and closer to their bedroom. The couple shared worried glances. What if it was a robber? Or a crazed serial killer? They had only been married for two months; they weren’t ready to die yet.

Their fear reach its crescendo when nearly silent footsteps sounded near their door and they saw the doorknob slowly beginning to turn.

“Jessie,” Catherine timidly whispered as her hand scampered across their comforter and latched onto their own. He had no weapon and his baseball was stored in the hallway closet. They were sitting ducks for whatever lurked outside. Jessie gathered his wife close and shielded her from the door right as it swung open.

They did what any rational people would do in such harrowing situations.

They screamed.

“Whoa!” a familiar voice yelled above their shrieks of terror. “It’s just me!”

Jessie and Catherine stopped and stared at the shadowy figure standing in their doorway. With an angry puff of air, Jessie flicked on his bedside lamp as the room brightened with golden light.

Sharon blinked at the onset of brightness before waving at her friends.

“Hey, guys,” she greeted amicably, smiling at the couple in the bed. Catherine – now seeing that their intruder was only her best friend – was calm and taking things in stride as she weakly waved back. Jessie, however, was far from amused by this spectacle at 2am in the morning.  

“How the hell did you get in here?” he demanded to know when his heartbeat finally settled.

“I picked your lock,” Sharon flippantly remarked with a casual shrug of her shoulders. “It was laughably easy. You should really look into better security measures. This is New York, after all. You never know what crazies exist out there.”

“Oh, trust me,” he muttered underneath his breath, “I’m looking right at one.”

He silently groaned when Catherine elbowed him right in the gut. She turned her big, brown eyes on Sharon and inquired, “What brings you here, Sharon? I thought we were getting brunch tomorrow. Remember? Bottomless mimosas.”

“The mimosas can wait,” Sharon snarled as she frantically whipped off her jacket, hurling it into the corner of the room. Her shoes quickly followed as she kicked them off. She was outfitted in roomy sweatpants and a faded Georgetown sweatshirt. “I’m having a crisis and I need you.”

She shuffled her way to the bed and nodded to Catherine’s side. “Scoot over.”

Catherine peeked over at Jessie. He was shaking his head no as he gave her his best attempt at puppy eyes. Unfortunately for him, Sharon had perfected that move years ago.

“Come on in,” she told her best friend as she pulled up the comforter and made space. Sharon slithered in like a happy snake as she rolled right up next to Catherine. Jessie groaned as he slumped back into his plush pillow.

“And to think,” he mused aloud to the ceiling as the two women made themselves comfortable. “I always imagined a woman crawling into our bed would result in something steamier, like a threesome.”

“If you play your cards right, it might just happen, stud,” Sharon replied with a playful wink as she pulled the comforter up to her chin.  

“We’re adventurous enough for a threesome,” Jessie childishly argued back as he flicked off the lamp, plunging the three into darkness. “Just not adventurous for one with you and all your crazy.”

“If I were to ever have a threesome it would totally be with Ryan Reynolds and Blake Lively,” Sharon announced to the room as she snuggled closer to Catherine.

“That’d be a good looking threesome,” Catherine tiredly supported as she wrapped an arm around Sharon to stop her squirming. Three grown adults in a king bed made movement pretty tight. Catherine rolled onto her side so she could face Sharon and have their little girl chat eye-to-eye.

“You haven’t crawled into bed with me in years,” she quietly murmured; always endlessly patient when it came to Sharon.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Sharon asserted, not looking Catherine in the eye. “I need comforting.”

Seeing that this was truly a dire situation, Catherine hugged Sharon tighter and slowly began running her fingers soothingly through Sharon’s hair.

“Aww, Share-Bear. What’s wrong?”

“Everything, Kit-Kat!” Sharon cried out as she pathetically burrowed into the security of her best friend’s side. “My head’s a mess. First, the fantasies started and I just thought it’d be a way for me to get off.”

Catherine’s eyes widened. “What?”

Jessie groaned from his side of the bed. “I’m not listening to this.” He shoved his head underneath his pillow in the hopes of drowning out Sharon’s woes.

“And then we got coffee and he remembered I love Americanos and he made me laugh. And the sun was shining in his hair and he looked like a painting and I just…I got a severe case of feelings!”

“Huh,” Catherine pondered the confusing mess of words Sharon was vomiting at her.

“You know, maybe Max was right, maybe I am a living, breathing example of a Freudian slip. I mean, I grew up on stories of him as a kid! Sure, he was never my favorite Howling Commando, but still, how could he not be a role model?”

Now Catherine’s sleep-addled brain was just lost.

“Who are you talking about?”

“Steve! I’m talking about Steve!” Sharon yelped hysterically as she wildly kicked her legs. “Who else would I be talking about?”

Silence followed that proclamation, except for the snore that ripped out of Jessie’s mouth. He had nodded off pretty quickly into Sharon’s roundabout rant.

Catherine stared. And then she stared some more.

“Sharon…are you in love with Captain America?”

“No!” Sharon blanched and wiggled uncomfortably at the insinuation. “It’s a crush at best. An infatuation. I’m sure it will pass in time.” Her words weren’t very convincing, even to her.

“Oh. My. God,” Catherine breathed out, looking like Christmas had come early. “You have feelings for Steve Rogers!”

Sharon let out a whimper as she shamefully buried her face into the pillow. “I really, really do.”

“Is that not a good thing?” Catherine hesitantly asked.

“It’s a terrible thing!” Sharon cried out. “It’s Steve _freakin’_ Rogers! Captain _fuckin’_ America! He’s the worst person I could develop feelings for.”

“How so?”

 _“How so?”_ Sharon parroted back neurotically. “It took years for the guy to even tolerate my presence let alone call me a friend. We finally found the sweet spot of trust and loyalty and our relationship has been right as rain ever since. My feelings could ruin everything.”

“Or,” Catherine offered up as she began massaging Sharon’s scalp in an attempt to drain the tension out of her high-strung friend. “Maybe he could have feelings for you as well.”

Sharon let out a bitter snort. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure the only Carter he’s interested in is Peggy.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, God! Peggy!” Now she felt even worse than before.

“Peggy has lived a very full and wonderful life with your Uncle Daniel,” Catherine told her. “She shouldn’t factor into the equation at all when it comes to you and Steve.”

“There is no me and Steve,” Sharon hastily argued back. “There _can’t_ be a me and Steve. I refuse to go there.”

“Sharon—“

“No,” Sharon stressed resolutely. Catherine recognized that stubborn tilt of her jaw. Sharon had made up her mind and there would be no changing it now.

“So what are you going to do about Steve?” she gently inquired after several beats of quiet.

Sharon thought about it for a moment. “Denial,” she stated with a nod of her head. “Denial sounds like the way to go.”

Sharon was an expert at denial. She was living proof that it wasn’t just a river in Egypt. She could denial all day long.

Catherine only sighed softly as her eyes began slipping shut, the siren call of sleep beginning to overtake her.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Yeah,” Sharon whispered back after a moment as she curled closer to Catherine. “So do I.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh! Sharon admits it. She has real feelings for Steve. It's what we've been waiting for :) Now, the question remains, will she ever tell Steve of her feelings? Hard to say. And I hope AoS fans are happy with my little easter eggs. I always love having Trip around and am really happy he and Sharon got to have a moment together. 
> 
> Thank you so much for the previous comments! It makes me happy to still have such dedicated readers enjoying my work. I say this all the time, but you guys play such a pivotal role in my motivation. Please let me know what you think of this chapter. I'd really love your feedback! ❤
> 
> Pic time!
> 
> Sharon visiting Peggy:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/32058272757/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/32058273037/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Sharon at Thanksgiving:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/32058272817/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Sharon at the High Line:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/33124272838/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/33124272908/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Steve at the High Line:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/32058272837/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Max Davenport:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/32058272917/in/dateposted-public/)


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